


I know who you are now

by Ceeninja



Series: Bowl of Oranges [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Guilt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yknow the standard Irving tags, now with plot!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2020-10-03 21:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceeninja/pseuds/Ceeninja
Summary: The dreams had always been with him.Since he was a child, Thomas would wake at night, images from a time long past dancing in front of his vision. Some were beautiful, peaceful even. His favorites were the ones with another younger boy; they played in a garden, or climbed trees together. There is a woman too, sometimes; darning socks by candlelight, or singing softly under her breath as she tended to supper. She would take Tom to what looked like a farmers market, basket swinging on her arm.  Those dreams left him feeling warm and content upon waking.Then, there were the other dreams.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This is my first foray into this fandom, and the first fic I've posted in years! Something about this show just really inspired me to write.  
I am planning on this being a large, lengthy endeavor, and so this first chapter may only be Jopson and Little, everyone will be making appearances and have large parts to play. I will add tags as characters appear, so as not to disappoint anyone looking for content that doesn't exist yet! 
> 
> No beta we die like cold boys
> 
> Title comes from Dear Wormwood, by The Oh Hellos

The dreams had always been with him.

Since he was a child, Thomas would wake at night, images from a time long past dancing in front of his vision. Some were beautiful, peaceful even. His favorites were the ones with another younger boy; they played in a garden or climbed trees together. There is a woman too, sometimes; darning socks by candlelight, or singing softly under her breath as she tended to supper. She would take Tom to what looked like a farmers market, basket swinging on her arm. Those dreams left him feeling warm and content upon waking.

Some dreams were sadder, starring the same characters, but changed. The woman, older now, cradling her damaged hand, wailing. A green bottle turned over and emptied. The boy, now a man, looking at Thomas with desperation in his eyes. The high-pitched, deranged laughter of an unstable mind. He would wake with an ache in his chest after these dreams, feeling heavily burdened with unknown responsibilities.

Then, there were the other dreams.

An unending expanse of white. Snow and ice for miles around. He is on the deck of a ship. The ice grinds against the hull, the noise tingling in his skull. There are others with him, dark forms scurrying about, busying themselves with tasks that seem meaningless to Thomas. He feels the sting of the wind on his cheeks and his breath puffs out in small clouds. There is a dog barking in the distance.

The scene changes rapidly and he is inside the ship now, in a large ornate room, probably meant for the captain and officers. A white blur passes over the windows. He's shouting now, words he doesn't fully understand.

_“It's at the stern!”_

A loud, unnatural growl, unlike anything Thomas has heard in his waking hours, rumbles through the ship. He hears men screaming. Thomas runs out of the room and is met by several other men, huddled around a ladder. They're trapped below deck. One of the men works to pry open the hatch, desperately pounding on the wood. The Captain is there. Thomas does not know how he recognizes this man as the Captain, only that he does. Looking at him sends a wave of powerful emotion through him. He knows this man, cares for him a great deal. He has no time to think on it further, as the hatch is opened and the men rush up the ladder. Thomas hears a cannon blast.

He sat up in bed, sweating profusely, but feeling colder than he had in years. He ran a hand over his face.

They were getting worse. More vivid, more _real. _He felt like he was going crazy. No longer could he write them off as an overactive imagination, like he could growing up. Once he started secondary school, he had blamed stress and hormones. In college, clearly he was indulging too much in the drink. But now, he had run out of excuses. He tossed the sweat-soaked sheets onto the floor and got up to retrieve his laptop. There would be no getting back to sleep tonight.

Settling back down on his bed, he opened the search engine and stared blankly for a moment, before typing a short phrase.

_past lives_

He clicked on the first link tentatively and found that it led to a website filled with conspiracy theories and outlandish claims. Feeling utterly foolish at even typing the words, he shut his laptop. He was being ridiculous. They were just dreams. He was tired, that was all.

Thomas sighed and brought his hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes, only to remember he didn't have hair long enough to do so. Panic welled up in his chest as his breath quickened. Where was he? What time was it? It was still dark, but that was a poor indicator of time in the Arctic—No, he shook his head, not there. He is at home, in London. He gripped his laptop so hard his knuckles turned white, and he heard the ice-- the plastic-- creak under his hands. He flipped it open again, letting the blue light illuminate his face in the darkness. Thomas exhaled slowly. The bright screen grounded him in the present, the 21st-century technology whirring in his lap. With shaking hands, he opened the search engine again.

_Historical Arctic Expeditions_

It was going to be a long night.

He was woken to the obnoxious blaring of his alarm clock. Jolting out of yet another dream (warm hands running down his sides, a stolen glance across a crowded room, the tickle of sideburns on his cheeks. “Call me Edward, please. We've known each other much too intimately for titles.”) Tom rolls over and slams the snooze button. He had fallen asleep in the middle of reading an article about the lost Franklin Expedition. The shock of reading his own name in the ship's manifest had completely wiped him out, and he had fallen into a fitful sleep soon after.

But now it was morning and reality, if he could call it that, came crashing in like a tidal wave. He choked back a sob and tried again to take steadying breaths. There was still no proof that his dreams were in fact, memories. It was simply too absurd. So what if he shared a name and a birthday with a long-dead sailor. So what if he could vividly picture the other men when he read their names. It meant nothing. He told himself these things over and over, like a mantra, as he readied himself for the day, going through the motions of getting dressed, making coffee and checking his work email, even though it was Sunday. He had nowhere to be today, but Thomas desperately needed some fresh air. Surely, he thought, that would sort him out. He made a quick list of groceries he only sort of needed, grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

Shopping for groceries was one of those mundane tasks that always calmed Thomas. Seeing the goods lined up neatly on the shelves gave him a sense of order that he was sorely lacking at the moment, and Thomas prided himself on being an orderly man. He already felt calmer as he walked towards the refrigerated section. For a moment he totally lost himself in his task of choosing between regular or extra pulpy orange juice that he didn't hear the footfalls of another person approaching.

“Excuse me,”

“Oh sorry, I--” Thomas shuffled out of the way, eyes downward. The man reached into the cooler, back turned to him as he grabbed a carton. He was broad-shouldered with dark hair, and Thomas gave himself a moment to appreciate his backside as he bent over. He flushed. Normally Thomas wasn't one to ogle random strangers in public, but he felt drawn to the man.

The man turned around, carton of orange juice in hand, and upon making eye contact with Thomas, immediately dropped the carton on Thomas's foot.

“Shit! God, I'm sorry!” he said, hastily bending down to pick it up. He looked up again.

Time seemed to both speed up and stop entirely. This man was familiar. Very familiar. Thomas just stared blankly for a moment, trying to place where he had seen him before. Remembering his manners, he finally spoke.

“Oh no, that's alright. Barely felt it,” he replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but Thomas didn't exactly trust his facial expressions at the moment.

The other man also looked out of sorts, looking very intently at Thomas, as he had just been doing to him.

“I'm, I'm sorry, do I know you?” he asked.

“You know,” Thomas said, “I was about to ask the same thing. I've seen you somewhere before but damn if I can remember.”

“I'm Edward.” He held out his hand.

Thomas grasped his hand firmly. “Thomas.”

“Nice to meet y-” Edward began but cut himself off.

Thomas was fairly certain why.

As soon as their hands met, memories began slamming into Thomas's mind with ferocity. It almost knocked him off his feet, save for Edward holding his hand like a vice.

_“Mr. Jopson, how is the Captain this evening?”_

__

__

“Tommy, you idiot, pull your muffler up.”

“It's just snowblindness, I'll be fine in a few days”

“Meet me at six bells, and I'll show you what else this mouth can do”

“I-- I love you, Thomas.”

“Some, but not all of us.”

_“Thomas, can you hear me? I'm going after the Captain. I will come back for you, I promise.”_

“Holy. Fuck.” Edward said, still holding Thomas's hand. He quickly let it drop.

Thomas felt the absence like an ache. He closed his hand into a fist to capture the warmth.

“Well then,” Thomas said after a beat. “now we know where we've seen each other before.”

Edward was pale and shaking slightly. Thomas suspected he looked the same.

The silence that followed was heavy, neither knowing what to say. Edward regained a bit of composure first and took a tentative step forward. He gently gripped Thomas's forearm and began rubbing his thumb across it.

“Hello.” he managed to choke out.

“Hi.” he replied, “Long time no see.”

Edward gave a watery laugh. “To put it mildly.”

Thomas couldn't hold himself back any longer. Edward Little was standing in front of him, and Thomas had no idea how it was possible or why, but found that at that very moment he didn't care. All he knew was that he needed to be kissing him. It had been over a hundred years, after all. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Edward's.

“mmph, Thomas, someone will see!” Edward said, pulling away.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “And?”

He let his meaning sink in for a moment. Edward's face split into a full grin. “Right. Carry on then.”

Thomas laughed. “We're in the middle of a supermarket, perhaps we should relocate.”

“Yeah, right yes. Uh, we could go back to mine? I live not too far.” Edward couldn't seem to stop smiling.

Thomas took his hand. “Lead the way Lieutenant.”

The ride over was quiet but filled with nervous energy. Thomas bounced his leg and stared out the window. As ecstatic as he was to be reunited with Edward, the reality of what just happened was beginning to sink in. His dreams were not dreams at all—they were memories. He had been alive 170 years ago, on a doomed Arctic expedition. He had died. He had two separate sets of memories bouncing around in his skull.

It was a lot to take in. Thomas spared a glance at Edward, who was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he drove. It seemed the gravity of their situation was also hitting him.

“Didn't take you for a Prius driver,” he said teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood.

Edward quirked an eyebrow at him. “Cars hadn't been invented yet, last time I saw you.”

“Right. Still, see you as more of a truck guy. Something with more horsepower.” Thomas replied with a smirk.

Edward groaned. “That was terrible, Thomas! And I'll have you know, my mum owns horses on our family farm. Uh, this time around as well, I mean. Christ, this is confusing.” he said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as he did so.

Thomas snorted derisively. “You're telling me. I've thought myself crazy, all this time.” He went to push his hair back, again annoyed to find it too short. “Overactive imagination my mum would say, but I know I could never imagine anything like...” he trailed off, feeling self-conscious.

Edward nodded slightly to encourage him to continue.

“I could never imagine something like what we shared,” Thomas muttered.

“Me either,” Edward replied easily, though his eyes were shiny. “Especially not that arse. Work of art, that is.” A cheeky grin spread over his face.

Any remaining tension in the car drained away as they both dissolved in a fit of hysterics. “Watch the road, idiot!” Thomas laughed.

“We're here, anyway,” Edward said as he pulled into a parking spot outside his flat. “I'll get some tea started.”

He took the stairs two at a time in his nervous excitement. Thomas followed behind, feeling nervous. He wasn't sure what he expected to see when he entered Edward's flat. On _Terror_, they had very little in the way of personal items. He wondered what kind of things Edward would decorate his space with now. Turned out the answer was 'not much'. The walls were bare, and aside from a very sad looking aloe vera plant, there was not much else to see, not even a TV. Edward lead him into the small kitchenette, where he started the kettle.

“What do you remember?” Edward asked, sitting down at his tiny table. “I've gotten flashes of things my whole life, just snippets of things, really. But, just then, Thomas, it–it all came back.”

Thomas sat. “It was the same for me. I think there are still some pieces missing if I'm being honest, but it's much clearer than it's ever been. Mostly the expedition. Remembering anything before that is….harder.” he frowned slightly. Thomas didn't like having gaps in his memory.

Edward nodded in agreement. “I remember I had a lot of siblings, but I can't remember their names.” He looked grief-stricken by this and Thomas immediately scooted his chair closer to comfort him.

Thomas nudged his foot with his own. “Maybe it will come back with time. Or we can look them up. There is quite a bit of information on us actually. I was, uh, doing some research.”

“The lost Franklin Expedition,” Edward said. “I've done a search or two on the nights the dreams were strong.” He grinned. “Did you know they promoted me to Commander?”

Thomas laughed. “Looks like we both got field promotions. It was well-deserved.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, which was only broken by the sound of the tea kettle. As Edward got up to make the tea, Thomas tried to remember if he had any other siblings or just his brother.

"Thomas,” Edward said, putting his cup down with a clink. "I know that this is a lot to take in, and well, we probably have more pressing matters...”

His voice faltered, and he looked away for a moment, steeling himself. "Well, I just, I wondered if you would want to pick up where we left off? I've just, I've been missing you my whole life, without even knowing it and our time together was so short before.”

He paused, rubbing his hands together. “You know,” he said, brightening. “we wouldn't have to hide, like before. I could take you to the theater, or-or to dinner. We could tell our friends, you can meet my mother even!” He paused again. “If–if that's what you want.”

Thomas held his hand out across the table and Edward grabbed it like a man drowning.

“Christ, Edward of course. The only reason we parted before was...” he trailed off as a dark memory found its way to the surface of his mind. “Oh.” He let go of his hand and pushed back slightly from the table. “Well, I didn't have much say in the matter, since you left me.”

Edward's face quickly lost color, leaving him as pale as Thomas remembered him being in those final days. “That's not what happened,” he said.

“Really? Because the last thing I remember was watching the sledges disappear into the distance. I tried to follow, but I couldn't stand anymore. I called out for the Captain, but I barely had a voice. My last act was to drag my body along the shale in a desperate attempt not to be left behind. The two men I trusted the most, who said they wouldn't leave me, _left me alone to die.”_ he snarled, tapping the table for emphasis.

The room was deadly silent for several heavy beats.

“I didn't even think about it at the time, but that is how it would have appeared to you,” Edward said solemnly. “Thomas, I know that originally I had suggested leaving the sick, and for that I am sorry. But I did not leave you. The Captain did not leave you. He was taken by Hickey and his men. He gave me orders to continue south, but I couldn't leave him with that rat. I organized a rescue party. The others—Le Vesconte, they left. But I had every intention of coming back for you, with the Captain.”

Thomas let the words sink in.

“Please, you must believe me.” Edward practically begged after almost a full minute of silence.

“I do,” he replied finally. “It's just, it's going to take me a bit yeah? This is just,” he put his head in his hands, “this is too much.”

The weight of the day's events finally caught up to him and he broke down, sobs wracking his body. Edward got up from his chair and was immediately at his side. Thomas reached for him and pulled him down into an embrace. The other man wrapped his arms around him. Thomas breathed in his scent, finding it very different from before. Instead of soap and ship's grease, blood and sweat, he smelled like pine and cedar. It suited him, he thought.

“Everything about this is so fucked.” he choked out.

Edward nodded, rubbing circles into his back from his awkward position bent over Thomas.

He knelt down and placed a hand on Thomas's chest. “But we're here now. For whatever reason, however it came to be, we've been given this. Extra time.” He pulled back to look at him, wiping tears from Thomas's cheek. “We've been given a second chance.”

Edward tilted his head and leaned in, hesitant at first, and then with more confidence. Their lips crashed together awkwardly due to the angle, but Thomas had never felt anything better. It was a rough kiss, desperate with longing, and Thomas let himself sink into it. He brought his hands up to cup Edward's face and found himself chuckling.

“What's so funny?” Edward asked.

“Never seen you without your ridiculous muttonchops,” Thomas said, stroking his face. “It threw me off for a minute.”

Edward laughed, and it was the best sound Thomas had heard in years. “Well, I suppose I could grow them back out, but that's not exactly in style these days.”

Thomas shook his head. “I couldn't care less what you do with your hair Edward. I'm just glad I found you again.”

Edward leaned his forehead against Thomas's own. “And I you.” he took his hand and tugged gently, a fire alight in his eyes. “Now, enough chit-chat, I dare say we have some catching up to do in other ways.”

“Oh, I thought you'd never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too submit to the fandom canon that's cropped up about Edward being a horse girl.


	2. Two

Francis Crozier stared into his glass of ginger ale like it held all the answers to his many problems.

"Don't know why the hell you look so glum, I figured you'd be over the moon." Thomas Blanky said as he polished a glass behind the bar counter.

Francis stared at a bottle just over Thomas's shoulder. "I'm just not getting my hopes up is all. We have no idea how this works-- he might not be our James at all." He took a sip from his glass.

Blanky snorted. "Snowball's chance in hell, Francis. You've read the book, it's the most accurate biography of James Fitzjames I've ever seen. Can't get details like that from just research. Leave it to James to write a book about himself, the arrogant bastard."

"He wouldn't know unless he's run into someone from before. Probably just dismisses it all as dreams. That's what I did. Until you decided to introduce yourself. I could have lived in blissful ignorance." He swept his hands out in a dramatic gesture. The words would have sounded bitter to anyone but Blanky, who saw the twinkle in Francis's eye and the slight twitch of his lips.

"You're welcome." He retorted. "It is a shame we've not met anyone else, though. I suppose most of the men were still in secondary school when we met. Maybe we'll run into them now that they're closer to the age they were then."

"You've spent some time speculating about this, then?"

"Well, I did the math. We met--again, that is, at the same age we met the first time. Maybe that's part of it. You're the same age you were in 1845, and suddenly James is coming to do a book talk at your university? Doesn't seem like a coincidence to me." Blanky explained smoothly like there was nothing insane about the situation at all.

Francis mulled over his words. "Makes a certain kind of sense. But--" he points emphatically at Thomas. "I’m still not convinced it's him. I would feel better if there was a damn picture of him at least."

"Well, you'll know for certain in two weeks. Stop brooding." Blanky swiped his glass to refill it.

"But it's what I'm best at," Francis said wryly.

Blanky rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning the bar.

A soft breeze wafted through the bar as a gaggle of students poured in from outside. Bright-eyed, fresh-faced first years, excitedly discussing the first day of classes after winter break.

"Look at them, Thomas. They've no idea what's coming in the next few years." He said. "They start out so enthusiastic and full of hope. It pains me to watch it fade. Every year. Reminds me of..." Francis sighed.

"It does me too." Blanky said wearily, before shaking his head slightly, as if to dislodge a thought. "Hey now. What did I just say about brooding?" He balled up a napkin and tossed it at Francis, hitting him square in the forehead. "Stop that. If I'm right, and I reckon I am, because I'm always right, we'll see them again. I can feel it in my gut. What would be the point if it was just the two of us, eh?"

"A cruel torture indeed." Francis grinned.

"Sod off."

The evening passed in amicable silence, Francis having pulled out his laptop in a vain attempt to get some lesson planning done, but in reality, he split his time between pestering Blanky, and people watching.

He was enraptured in watching some poor lad attempting to ask a girl out, (she clearly wasn't interested, and oh did Francis relate to his plight,) when he was startled by an email notification. "Ah finally," He said, clicking. "My class roster." Francis explained when Blanky gave him an inquisitive look. "I like to at least_ try _to know their names."

He scrolled through the list, taking his time to look at each picture that accompanied the names. Many of them were already familiar faces, from the semester before, but there were always a few new faces, especially since in recent years he had opened his class to non-traditional students and community members. With the discoveries of HMS Erebus and HMS Terror (which had been an ordeal to go through, seeing his beloved ship in such a state. He had almost relapsed that week, if not for Blanky's unwavering support.), his class on early maritime exploration was extremely popular.

Francis got to the end of the list and barked out a sudden laugh.

"What the devil's got into you?" Blanky asked.

Francis turned the laptop around so he could see. "The last three names, Thomas."

Blanky quickly scanned the page and broke out into a huge grin.

"Told you I'm always right."


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Irving Sunday! Please make note of the new tags.

It was nice, Edward thought, to be able to sleep without nightmares. He felt better rested in the one week he had been reunited with Thomas than he had most of his life. He could sense Thomas laying next to him, quietly reading, the soft sound of a page turning cutting through the haze of sleep. Edward was content to lay there, hand curled around Thomas's midsection, and drift in and out of consciousness.

"Do you think there's more of us?"

Edward rolled over onto his side and opened his eyes with great difficulty. "Nnnrgh"

Thomas chuckled softly and ruffled his hair. "Sorry, I thought you were already awake."

Edward pushed himself up on his elbow and peered at his alarm clock. "Why in God's name would I be awake at 6 am on a Saturday?"

"We used to get up much earlier than that." Thomas shrugged.

Edward thwapped him with his pillow. "Yeah well, we're not in the service anymore. And I for one, cherish the invention of the 9 to 5 workweek and its weekend benefits." He felt like sticking his tongue out but refrained. Edward would never have acted so childishly before, and he didn't want Thomas to know how different he was now. Not yet.

"Why are you awake?" he asked instead.

Thomas shrugged again. "Just thinking."

"About?" Edward prompted.

"All of...this." he gestured around them. "Why are we here? How? Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely thrilled to be here," Thomas squeezed his hand. "I am certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I am curious. We can't be the only ones to," he paused, clearly wracking his brain for the best words, "get a second life."

"The word you're looking for is reincarnation, Tom."

"Yeah I know, but that just sounds..."

"Absolutely mad?"

Thomas nodded. "Whatever you call it, I can't help but think it unfair, if it was just us who came back. Every other soul lost to that place deserves another chance."

"God certainly owes it to us, in my opinion." Edward adjusted himself so his side was flush with Thomas, wanting to touch as much of him as possible. A solid reminder that he was there, warm and healthy and alive. He hummed under his breath, and peppered tiny kisses onto Thomas's shoulder, just because he could.

"We could look for others if you wanted." He suggested as he continued pressing kisses down Thomas's chest. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a barely audible giggle.

"You know I'm ticklish there, Edward." He admonished, trying and failing to keep a serious face.

"Wanted to make sure. Different body and all that." He replied easily.

"Uh-huh." Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Like we haven't spent _all weekend_ re-learning each other."

Edward grinned wolfishly and nipped at a taut nipple. Thomas squealed.

"Weren't we talking about something?" Thomas managed to say between heavy breaths.

"Can't recall," Edward said, as he tugged off Thomas's pants.

\--------

"Are we sure about this?"

"Well. No. This may be a horrible idea, but I figured this was our best chance to talk to him. I don't want to just walk up and introduce myself, in case we're wrong. We'd sound crazy." Thomas said as he adjusted a notebook in his grip. "Besides, it will be fascinating to see how history portrays what happened."

"I doubt they mention half of what actually occurred. Certainly won't be any mention of Tuunbaq." Edward replied dryly. He repressed a shudder at the memory of the great beast. "Or if they do, it's depicted as a regular polar bear."

"I think that's for the best," Thomas replied.

"Oh, absolutely." he agreed.

They took the stairs to Professor Crozier's classroom two at a time. Edward could see Thomas was practically vibrating with excitement at the possibility of seeing their Captain again. He had to admit, he was also desperate to see him. The man had become more than a Captain in the three years they spent in that hell. Not just a leader, but a father figure to many of the men. Not that Edward would ever admit to that out loud. He truly hoped they were right, and that they'd be face to face with Francis Crozier soon. He wasn't sure either of them could take the disappointment otherwise.

It had been a long time since Edward had stepped into a lecture hall. He'd gotten his business degree four years ago, and after going through that, he swore off academia. Thomas was the opposite. Always hungry for knowledge, he frequently audited classes on a variety of subjects, simply for the joy of it. It was incredibly endearing to Edward.

Thomas reached the door first. "Okay, here we go!" he said, a sort of strained, false cheer in his voice. A pitiful attempt to cover his nerves.

Edward reached out and brushed his arms with his knuckles to reassure him.

Thomas pushed open the door.

\-----

John fidgeted in his seat, which was very unbecoming of him, but he found he couldn't help himself. He was the first person in the lecture hall, there even before the professor. John thought it a very funny coincidence that the person teaching the course shared a name with the captain of a ship he would be teaching about.

In the back of his mind, a thought surfaced. John quickly stamped it down. He refused to give the time of day to such silly notions. He was here to satisfy an idle curiosity, and to give himself a break from seminary study, no other reason.

He certainly didn't feel drawn here by forces he couldn't understand. Not at all.

John wished he had brought his Bible with him, just to flip through its pages, if nothing else. It was always a balm to his cluttered mind. Most people didn't understand his devotion. His father constantly battled with him about it.

_"I don't understand why you want to become a bloody priest is all! You're young and handsome, and any girl would be lucky to have you. It's a waste really."_

He gritted his teeth. Best not to dwell on things he cannot control. John was certain that priesthood was his true calling, and he wasn't going to let anyone sway him from his path.

As lost in thought as he was, John didn't register that he was no longer alone until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John! It really is you!" A man exclaimed, a huge smile on his face like they were best friends reuniting after a long time apart. He had dark hair and brown eyes and looked painfully familiar. "This is a welcome surprise! Thomas, look who I found!"

John noticed a second man hovering in the doorway, looking more nervous than a teenager at their first dance. He looked up when his name was called, and as he saw John, his nerves seemed to calm. He too broke out into a radiant grin.

"Oh thank god, I was right." He said, taking large strides to reach them. "Hey, John."

John blinked slowly as he tried to organize his thoughts. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, do we know each other?"

Their faces fell and John felt strangely guilty.

"Ah, well, perhaps not." the first man said. He cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, putting on a smaller, more reserved smile. "You just look so much like a friend of ours. I'm Edward," he held out a hand. "This is my, uh," he spluttered for a moment, "this is Thomas."

The man known as Thomas looked at Edward with a look of extreme fondness, his blue-gray eyes going soft with love.

John resisted the urge to squirm, hoping his discomfort did not show on his face.

"Well, hello." He finally replied. "My name is John, you were right about that." He didn't take Edward's offered hand.

The other man retracted it, looking truly crestfallen. Thomas grabbed his arm and dragged him a few feet away, where they began talking in harsh whispers.

"Well, he certainly _acts_ like Irving." He said with a note of bitterness. "The man was always, well. Uncomfortable with some things."

"It was the 1800s, Thomas, everyone was." Edward hissed.

Thomas scowled at his companion. "Still, it really does make me think–"

"He didn't react when I touched him, it's not–"

"Look, I can hear you." John finally said. "And, and I do apologize for...I don't have a problem with it, I assure you." The words felt clunky on his tongue, and John wished the floor would swallow him whole.

They glanced over at him. Edward sighed, and walked back over to him, though Thomas stayed back.

"S'alright. We just, truly thought you were someone we knew. He was ah, very much like you."

John nodded, though he really didn't understand. He held out his hand. "My apologies, again. Edward was it? It's nice to meet you."

Though the man still looked forlorn, he grasped his hand. "Nice to meet you too."

Suddenly the room dropped away and John found himself somewhere else.

It was absolutely freezing cold. He sat around a table, Edward next to him, looking extremely more unkempt than he did moments before. He was wearing what seemed to be an officer's uniform. John realized he was in the same outfit. They weren't in a room, but a tent, which flapped lightly in the bitter wind.

_"All the cans?" _Edward was saying, _"Every single one of them?"_

John reached out in front of him and grabbed a red can with a peeling label, as if on autopilot. Another man began speaking, explaining that the food was poisoned, but John couldn't hear him clearly, like he was miles away, instead of across the table. "What--what's going on?" He asked, but the other men did not hear him and went on discussing hunting parties. Edward gently tapped his thigh and John startled at the familiarity of it. The vision suddenly began to waver, and John tried to hold onto it, but it was fading before his eyes.

The next moment he found himself on the floor of the lecture hall, Edward and Thomas staring down with looks of concern.

"I guess it takes direct skin contact." Thomas mused.

John rolled over and vomited.

"Ah, Jesus!" Edward jumped back, while Thomas remained unfazed.

"I've seen worse, John, don't feel bad," Thomas said as he rubbed a hand down his back. "Just breathe. It's a lot, I know." He helped him into a sitting position.

John's head felt like it had been cracked open, and there were tears on his face. He couldn't seem to get a sentence to form and he stared at them with a gaping expression.

Edward was smiling. "Hi, John."

Oh, Christ." He finally sputtered after several moments. "Oh shit, the- the lecture, we-we have to clean this up-"

"Easy," Edward said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Thomas has already gone to fetch a janitor. We'll just say you fell ill. Nerves or something." He winked.

John hadn't even noticed Thomas leave. He must have been really out of it. He ran a hand down his face, his fingernails catching in his short beard. "Right, okay." He took a shuddering breath. "Help me up, would you?"

Edward grasped his forearm and hauled him to his feet. "Alright John?"

"No." He replied. "Yes. Oh, I don't know." He had a million thoughts and memories racing through his mind, and he desperately tried to hold on to one of them.

"The-the Captain..."

"Is probably the one teaching this class, yeah. That's why we're here. To see if it's him, if he remembers." Edward still had not let go of his forearm, which John was grateful for. One wrong step and he would collapse again.

"It was _real_, it's all real, isn't it?" He moaned. "I had told myself it was just in my head." John inhaled deeply. "It is good to see you, Edward. I'm just.."

"No need to explain." He replied. "Thomas and I had to take a few days to get our thoughts straight."

"You...and Thomas?" John asked, finally.

"Me and Thomas." Edward nodded, a huge smile on his face. "For a while, actually. We, uh, after Carnivale..." he trailed off.

John ignored the churning of his stomach at the mention of Carnivale and tried to focus on Edward. "You would've been lashed," John whispered.

Edward shrugged. "I loved him." He said, like it was simple, like he was discussing the weather.

"I still do." he continued. "But now, I don't have to hide it." He smiled. "We've been given more time, John, all of us, isn't that amazing?"

John could only nod, not trusting his voice. Thomas returned shortly after with a very disgruntled maintenance man, who fixed John with a withering stare as he mopped up the sick. John gave him a sheepish smile.

Edward had let go of John, who was feeling steadier on his feet. It was a lot to take in, Edward was right. But he had to have faith. That this was part of God's plan. It had to be, or John's whole life would unravel.

He looked at Thomas and Edward and felt a pang in his chest. They looked so happy, comfortable with themselves and each other. Edward had his hand resting at the small of Thomas's back like it was second nature to him. John was floored to realize that he was envious of them. He decided quickly not to dwell on that thought, as he was already having trouble coming to terms with one life-changing revelation.

"Thank you," Thomas was saying as the janitor left. "Right, got that all sorted." He said, clapping his hands together. "How are you feeling John?"

John was saved from answering by the door opening.

"Alright, which one of you is responsible for the sour look on my maintenance staffer's face? That'll get you duty-owing."

The three of them straightened on instinct. "Sir." They said in unison.

Captain Crozier gave a wry smile. "Hello, men."


	4. Four

"Christ, will you relax." Francis said with great amusement. "Don't call me Sir, I'm not your Captain anymore. Use my first name, please, call me Francis."

Thomas's eye twitched. "You don't understand how much I_ cannot_ do that, sir."

Edward and John both cracked a smile. Francis's heart was fit to burst at the sight. He hadn't felt such joy in a long time. His men were here, right in front of him. _Smiling._

"You'll always be our Captain." Edward replied, striding forward to greet him with a warm handshake. "So you do remember."

"I do." Francis replied in a measured tone. "Ran into Mr. Blanky almost eight years ago now. We jogged each other's memories."

"Eight years?"

"Mr. Blanky is here too?"

"Is there anyone else?"

Francis held up his hands and the three men quieted. "I will happily answer as many questions as I can, but not here."

"Oh that's right, the lecture should be starting soon," Thomas looked down at his watch.

Francis gave a conspiratorial smile. "I canceled class today. I've got the flu you see. Terrible timing."

"Then you should be in bed, sir. Resting."

"Thomas. He's joking." Edward replied with a breathy laugh. "Please relax." he gripped his shoulders from behind. "You'll break out into hives again."

Thomas turned a very interesting shade of red.

Francis gave him a sympathetic glance. "Be easy on yourself, Thomas. You've just had a terrible shock." It warmed his heart immeasurably to see that his former steward-turned-lieutenant's first instinct was to help him. It also filled him with a well of guilt. He hadn't been there when he'd passed. He should have been there.

"Well, we've known for about a week now," Edward explained, bringing Francis back to the present. "It's poor John here who's just found out."

Francis turned his attention to the last of his former lieutenants. It took him longer than he'd have liked to look at him, but it was very difficult to erase the last image of John Irving that was etched into his mind. It was a relief to finally replace that picture with one of him alive and whole again.

"Well then, we should get this man a drink." He said, clapping him on the shoulder.

\--------

Blanky tapped his foot to the beat of the music coming over the shitty speaker system he'd installed and waited. Francis said he would bring the boys over to say hello, and while Blanky wasn't nearly as fond of them as Francis, (no one could be, Blanky knew they were like sons to him.) he still was looking forward to seeing the lads. They had gone through hell together, after all.

Blanky took a moment to pull down glasses for each of them, and grabbed the bottles of liquor he thought they'd like best. Except for Francis of course; he brewed him a strong pot of coffee instead. The man wasn't going to make the same mistakes twice. Francis had not had a drop of alcohol since 'waking up' and Blanky was immeasurably proud.

The ding of the door chime let him know he was no longer alone. The Irish brogue he heard told him it was Francis.

"--and then he punched me in the face." He was saying to the other three, trailing after him like ducklings.

"Telling the lads the story of our reacquaintance then?" Blanky hollered from the bar. He raised his hand in greeting. "He was being a right prick. Deserved it."

"That I did, and I can't thank you enough." Francis replied, taking his usual place at the bar. "I sobered up after that, " he continued. "Which was a lot less traumatic than the last time, though my help was not nearly as good." He winked at Jopson.

The young man rolled his eyes but didn't hide his pleased smile.

"Mr. Blanky," he said warmly. "You look well."

"Considering the last time you saw me I had a missing leg, gangrene and scurvy, I'm not sure if I can take that as a compliment.

"You forgot the lead poisoning." Francis added helpfully.

"Aye, how could I forget?" His smile quickly turned into a frown at the green pallor on the younger men's faces. "Ah, sorry lads, you're probably not at the joking phase yet." He began to pour them drinks. "Bit of a shock isn't it?"

Jopson shrugged. "I'd seen things my whole life, if anything it's a relief to know I'm not mad."

"And I'm grateful." Little chimed in. "I didn't want my story to end there, especially like that." His hands shook slightly around his glass.

"And what about you Lieutenant Irving?" Blanky asked.

"I just uh, became aware of our predicament fifteen minutes ago." He said.

"Well then," Blanky poured him a double. "You must be needing this."

"I'd rather have some things clarified." Irving responded, pushing the drink away. "What happened after I--after I was attacked?"

Francis muttered into his glass. "We're starting there then. Alright. I'd had hoped to put this off, honestly."

The men fixed him with identical steely gazes.

"Very well."

He turned to face Irving directly. "After Hickey murdered you, he ran to find Hodgson, told him a wild story about how the Netsilik were the culprits. Hodgson believed him. The whole party was killed."

"No. They were helping me! He gave me food. For God's sake, _there was a child." _John protested.

"I know, John. We didn't believe him for a minute. But," he paused, and Blanky could see the man wrestling with his thoughts. "we did do an autopsy, to confirm our suspicions. That they had fed you."

Irving swallowed audibly.

Francis pushed on, avoiding going into details about the state of Irving's body. "We arrested Hickey and Tozer, his accomplice, and court-martialled them. Sentence to be carried out by hanging. Tuunbaq showed up before we had a chance to hang the bastards. All went downhill from there."

"Good God."

"They got away," Little continued. "Later they took the Captain. I went to get you back, sir, but--"

"It's alright Edward. I know. You did well. You all did so well." Francis's cheeks were wet. "It was I who failed you."

"Bullshit." Blanky snarled.

"What did happen to you, after Hickey's men took you?" Jopson asked.

Francis sighed deeply. "It's not something fit for words. But, I will tell you anyway. He deserves to have his sacrifice remembered."

He told them, as he had Blanky years before, about what he had found at Hickey's camp, Dr. Goodsir's suicide, and the following battle with the Tuunbaq.

"I blacked out. The next time I came to, really was any kind of coherent, I was missing a hand, though the stump was healed, and some time had passed."

"What–your hand?" Little gasped.

Francis just shrugged. "Silna did what she had to, to get me off the chain. I was grateful."

"Silna, sir?" Jopson asked.

"Ah," Francis smiled for the first time since beginning his story. "Lady Silence. Silna was her real name. She saved me and came with me to look for you men. I owe her more than I can say. After, when I realized I was the only one left, she took me to her people. They let me stay with them."

"Even after what happened? They were kinder than we deserved." Irving muttered.

"That they were." Francis agreed. "They even covered for me, when Ross came looking, years later. Told him I died with you, and not to stay. That we were dead. And gone."

"But, you were still living with the Inuit? Why didn't you go back?" Little pressed.

"In all the ways that mattered, I was dead, Edward. I could not go back to the comforts of home when all my men could not. I couldn't betray you like that. And I'm not sure I could ever have adjusted back to life in England. I stayed, made sure each of you got a proper burial, and then I lived out the rest of my life there. The only penance I could give. It was more than I deserved." Francis's gaze was fixed in the middle-distance as he spoke.

The bar was heavy with silence as the men absorbed what they'd been told.

Blanky sighed deeply. He knew that they would have needed the whole story eventually, as he had. He had just hoped they could have waited longer.

"Right," he said. "Now you know how things turned out. But, I am asking you not to dwell on it. Look at you! You have your whole lives ahead of you, and you can live them as you please."

"He's right, damn him. You don't need to wallow in it. I spent too long in the past when I first remembered. Don't make the same mistake." Francis gave them a small, but genuine smile. "It gives me great joy to see you again. Focus on what we've gained, not what has been lost."

Jopson and Little nodded, and Irving looked a bit less pale.

"We may have even more to gain," Blanky added. "I suspect there are more of us. We should keep an eye out for old friends."

"I've already been looking for others actually," Jopson spoke up, pulling his phone from his pocket. "It's how I found your class, sir. There is also going to be a book event on campus soon and I believe that--"

Francis waved at him. "It might be Fitzjames yes, yes. You and Thomas both." He gestured to Blanky. "It could be James, but we don't know for sure. Best not make assumptions."

Jopson stared him down. "I suppose." He seemed skeptical.

"Look, if it is him, I'll be very glad of it. It's just that if it isn't, I won't have to be disappointed." Francis explained, his tone indicating that they were done discussing it.

Little and Jopson shared a look. Blanky wondered if they'd picked up on Francis's discomfort and avoidance. Most likely they had, particularly Jopson who was gifted at reading people, especially his Captain. They let the matter drop.

"What makes you think there are others, Mr. Blanky?" Irving asked instead. "What do you make of all of this?"

Blanky shrugged. "Likely we'll never have a satisfying answer for that. I'm not going to waste time worrying about it."

"I think it's God's way of saying 'sorry for abandoning you in the seventh circle of hell'." Little replied.

"Or perhaps God has a greater plan for us," Irving mused. " I wonder why he brought us here, to this time."

"Maybe we're supposed to solve global warming." Jopson snorted. "Isn't that just ironic? Ice in the Arctic melting, and it's a bad thing."

"The Arctic is very important to the balance of our planet. We didn't respect it then, and we still don't. Now we're suffering for it." Blanky said.

"But there are some very nice things about the 21st century," Francis added.

"Indoor plumbing," Blanky said, at the same time as the others chimed in.

"Cell phones."

"Netflix."

"Equal rights."

"Mmm, I'd say that's still a work in progress," Blanky argued.

"Very true. But at least lashing people seems to have gone out of style." Little countered.

"Cheers to that," Francis replied. He paused. "Cheers to us, for making it, despite all odds."

Each man raised their glass and toasted, the fog of earlier conversations lifted. A warmth re-entered the bar as the night went on. They shared more pleasant memories of before and filled each other in on their present.

Irving was unsurprisingly attending seminary, Little was the assistant head of accounting at some tech company, and Jopson was working in an insurance call-center.

"Everyday I feel my soul die a little bit more." he deadpanned. "I miss sailing if I'm honest."

"I can take you some time." Little piped up. "Dad owns a little schooner."

Jopson rolled his eyes. "Trust fund baby." He grumbled.

"You love it," Edward smirked.

"No, I love you, not your money." Jopson retorted.

Blanky laughed out loud at the shocked expression on Jopson's face. He clearly had not meant to say that sentiment out loud.

"Don't look so mortified, Thomas," Francis said gently. "It's alright. Better than, I'd say. You two make quite the pair." he smirked and raised his glass to them.

Blanky watched Jopson relax at the approval of his Captain. It was obvious how much Francis's opinion meant to the young man.

Little, meanwhile, was blushing and smiling like an idiot, happier than Blanky could ever remember seeing him.

The conversation moved on and they talked for several hours. Eventually, the night grew late, and they parted ways, only after reassuring one another they would meet up again soon. Blanky watched Jopson help a slightly inebriated Little into an Uber, his hand resting firmly at the small of his back. Irving had had his wits about him enough to walk home, though Francis had made him promise to send a text when he arrived safely.

Blanky smiled to himself as he cleaned up. It felt good to have the crew together again.

They had finally made it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used their surnames in this chapter, when it switches to Blanky's POV, partially because they were not as close as to be on first name basis, but mostly to avoid the Two Thomas Problem. 
> 
> We're also using proper terms for the Inuit as this is the present, and now they know better.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally get to introduce more cold boys to the mix. This is some seriously schmoopy nonsense, but. I mean, that just how they are.

Henry moved through the shelves slowly, languidly running his fingers over the spines of the books there. It was late, almost 2 am, and so he was alone, save for the singular bored security guard that would occasionally make a round. The first time they had bumped into each other, he'd almost been kicked out, even after waving his night pass in his face. But now, Henry frequented the library so often, they knew each other's names.

"Solomon." He nodded as he passed him "Busy night?"

"Just you, as always Peglar." He replied with an air of indifference. He turned the corner, and Henry was alone again.

He moved along, reading titles and humming to himself. He should be studying, but it was difficult for him to focus. Instead, he idly plucked a book from the shelf, a collection of poems, and flipped to a random page.

"Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art" Henry whispered softly. "Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night--"

"And watching, with eternal lids apart, like nature's patient, sleepless, Eremite," came another voice, and Henry jumped.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Mr. Bridgens." Henry exhaled. "What on earth are you doing here so late?"

The older man smiled. "Maybe I live here."

Henry laughed. "Well, I suppose. I've never seen you anywhere else on campus. Perhaps you are bound here, like Prometheus to his rock."

It was Bridgens's turn to laugh. "A small price to pay for bringing knowledge to mankind. Why are you here so late?"

"I uh, couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get some studying done instead." Henry shrugged.

"And how's that going?"

Henry's silence spoke volumes.

Bridgens smiled. "I assumed as much. Come on then, let me make you some tea, perhaps that will help you relax. Then you can go home and sleep. You can't keep burning the candle at both ends." He grasped his shoulder firmly and steered him into his office.

The tension Henry had been carrying around all day eased from his shoulders at the contact. There was something about the man that was so comforting and achingly familiar. "Thank you Mr. Bridgens."

"What have I said? Please call me John. You'll make me think I'm old." He said with a wink.

John walked into his tiny office and flicked on the light. "Make yourself comfortable, Henry."

Henry sat down in what he had begun to think of as his chair as John busied himself with heating water in the electric kettle. They had made a habit of doing this; every few days Henry would go to the library, sometimes during normal hours, between classes, and other times, at ridiculous times of the night. John was always there, however, to offer him a cup of tea or coffee. Sometimes he would have biscuits, or even little sandwiches. They'd sit and talk for hours, about everything and nothing. Their favorite authors, Henry's classes, or John's constant battle with securing funding for the library.

They would always sit next to each other, so close he could feel the heat from John's body, but they never touched, not any more than a shoulder pat here, or a guiding hand on his arm. It drove Henry mad.

He wanted to touch John so badly, in ways both casual and intimate. It had startled Henry for all of 30 seconds when he realized he desired the older man in that way, before it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Like loving John, and he was fairly certain that's what it was, was ingrained in his soul.

The most frustrating part was that he was reasonably sure his affections were returned, but that John thought himself too old for him. He would make little self-deprecating jokes that tore at Henry's heartstrings. It didn't matter one lick to him how old John was. His soul was timeless.

John had taken his customary seat and sat down a teacup and saucer in front of him.

"Thank you, John."

John gave him a warm smile. "My pleasure Henry. Now, what's been keeping you up tonight? Not those dreams again I hope?" He asked with concern.

Henry shook his head. "No, not this time. They've actually been less, lately. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"How so?"

"Well, talking about these things is supposed to help, and indeed it has. So, I appreciate your listening ear." Henry explained.

John leaned over and placed a hand on his knee. Henry felt how warm he was, even through the thick corduroy. "Of course."

His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Henry took a steadying breath. "That. That is what keeps me awake at night John." He gestured to John's hand. The other man removed it quickly like he'd been burned. A flash of hurt crossed his face before he hid it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He said, sounding dejected.

"No, no John, that's not what I meant." He assured him quickly. "Quite the opposite actually." Henry felt himself blushing but pushed on. "I rather like it when you touch me. I'd like if you did it more."

The words and their unspoken meaning hung in the air between them.

"Henry..." John began, "I am 60 years old. You are 30. That's thirty years difference. I'm old enough to be your father. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you, I don't--"

"John, stop." Henry interrupted. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. And about how we feel for one another. Don't pretend you don't feel it, John. Please." He reached up to cup John's face, not able to stand not touching him anymore.

The world dissolved around them.

It was dark, and Henry was curled on his side in a too-small bed. There was the sound of creaking wood surrounding him, and further cracking, beyond that. There was a strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him close to the body behind him.

You should be asleep, Henry. We have a long walk ahead of us." John's voice rumbled in his ear.

"I'm afraid, John." He said or remembered saying.

John kissed the top of his head. "I know love, I know. But we will make it."

"Like in Anabasis."

Yes. Just like that." John replied, holding him tighter against his chest.

Henry's eyes slipped closed as he fell into a fitful sleep.

He opened his eyes.

John was looking at him in awe. "Henry."

"John." He whispered, afraid that if he spoke too loudly it would all slip away again. His hand was still on John's face. "Did you, did you see that?"

"I did." He nodded. "My God, Henry."

They moved to close the distance between them at the same time, bumping noses as they did. John laughed and tilted his head to slot their lips together. It was the best kiss Henry had ever had.

The tea on the table grew cold, and neither man noticed.

\----------

The morning sun was bright on Henry's face. He rolled over to avoid its rays and bumped his face into something warm and very fuzzy.

"Good morning," the something said.

Henry blinked and shook his head, clearing the last cobwebs of sleep from his mind. He opened his eyes and was greeted with the lovely sight of John Bridgens smiling at him. Henry beamed back.

"Lo' John." He said. He pressed a kiss to John's cheek before burrowing down into the blankets again. Only his eyes were visible when he was done. This made John laugh, which had been the point, really, second only to Henry's desire to curl up in bed with him and never leave. He would spend the rest of his life there if he could.

The night before had been more spectacular than Henry had ever dreamed. To be reunited with your long lost love after a century apart was the stuff of poems, and it was Henry's reality. He curled into John's chest and placed his ear against it to listen to the reassuring beat of his heart. "We made it." He said finally.

John chuckles, and it gently rumbled through Henry. "We did. Perhaps not in the way I imagined, but we did."

"I already considered myself so lucky, having as much time with you as I did," Henry murmured. "Now I get more." He hummed contentedly before abruptly stopping as a thought occurred to him.

"Henry, what is it?" John asked, gently stroking his arm. "Come on, out with it." He said after receiving no reply.

Henry dithered, wondering if it would be out of place, or too soon to make such a suggestion. They had only been together for less than a day with their memories intact after all. But, he knew that now that the idea had taken hold, it would be impossible to dislodge. They had spent many years together in their old lives, surely this was warranted.

"It's just....we're here, in this time now." He sat up to better look John in the eye. "2019."

"Yes?" John prompted, ever patient as Henry found his words. It was what had made him such an excellent teacher, in the early days of their acquaintance on the Beagle.

"And, well. Certain things are different, now. The laws have changed--" Henry stuttered over his words.

"Henry, are you asking me to marry you?" John interrupted, his eyebrows raised. His smile was warm and knowing. He reached for Henry's hand and entangled it with his own.

"Yes," Henry whispered. "I am."

"Funny that," John replied. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Henry's heart began to do flips in his chest. "Oh. Well, alright then. I suppose that's settled."

"Ah, but I want to hear you say it."

"Which part, the proposal or my answer?" Henry asked.

John kissed his hand, still entwined with his. "Whichever pleases you, love."

Henry laughed quietly. "Will you marry me, John Bridgens?" He asked.

"I will," John replied, tears leaking down his face to mingle in his beard. "And will you, Henry Peglar, marry me?"

Henry could feel tears on his face as well.

"Yes, John. Yes I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based a few things here off of book canon, mostly the length of their relationship and how they met.
> 
> Poem Henry recites in the beginning is Bright Star, by John Keats. It's use was 100% inspired by [this amazing playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0TXAXvXszZ27bfha8Aigwq?si=1I2WEVF2Qd6PFh0UoJYXBw)


	6. Six

_God grants us many things in this world, but he does not grant us ghosts!"_

The irony of his words was not lost on him, now that God had granted him another life with memories of his past. Close enough to a ghost, in his mind.

John shivered, whether from the cold snow wetting his clothes now, or the memory of the icy Arctic. He was having trouble keeping the past at bay, and sometimes could not tell when he was. It was infuriating, and more than a little frightening.

_"Give it time, son" _Crozier had said, _"Things will feel more normal soon."_

It had only been two days. John supposed he should be kinder to himself, but he had never been good at that, in either lifetime. He'd always pushed to better himself- to rise in the ranks of Her Majesty's Navy, or to complete seminary school and dedicate himself to his faith, John never did things halfway.

He felt very halfway at the moment.

Which is why he found himself outside of the university's library. If he was enrolled here as a student, he may as well take advantage of their massive collection of books. He could have gone to the library at the Seminary, but he doubted they would have what he was looking for.

John stepped inside, and was pleased to find it very warm. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, water dripping from his hair onto the carpet, before spotting a coat rack to hang his jacket on. The library itself was crowded, but almost totally silent, except for the occasional click of a mouse or a book page rustling as it turns. It was unsettling.

He made a beeline for the closest computer and opened the library catalog. Before he could change his mind, he began typing in his search query.

reincarnation

He drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited for the results to load. The others might be satisfied with not having any answers, but John needed to understand what was happening. He had to reconcile his predicament and his faith, for they felt at odds.

It had been two days, and he had yet to return to his studies. Two nights he'd gone without praying. He was utterly lost.

The next hour was spent looking at different books, feeling dissatisfied with what he was reading, and putting it back. He was reshelving a book called Christianity and Reincarnation, when he heard a voice behind him.

"I'll get that for you. It actually helps us if you don't put them back. That way we know what's being used."

John spun around. "Sorry, I didn't know. Oh. Hello." he said dumbly as he realized who he was speaking with.

"It's quite alright Lieutenant Irving." Bridgens smiled, taking the book from his hands. "Ah, yes, an interesting read, but I think some nuance was lost when it was translated from the original German. I'm assuming you didn't pick this up for some light reading?"

"You don't seem surprised to see me," John said, instead of answering the question.

"Not at all. Though I am glad to see you. No, Henry and I have already spotted a few familiar faces around. We just haven't had a chance to say hello yet. Not that I'm keen on refreshing Mr. Tozer's memory." he said, mouth turned down in a small frown.

It hadn't occurred to John that some of the mutinous crew members may also be present. The thought of running into Tozer or god forbid, _Hickey,_ made his skin crawl.

Bridgens must have noticed his discomfort and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Best not worry about it too much, at least right now."

John nodded, and moved the conversation forward. "The Captain will be glad to hear from you, I assume you know he's on the staff here?"

Bridgens smiled."Yes, Henry was very eager to go see him, but he has class until late tonight. We were hoping to catch him tomorrow. What's one more day after 170 years, hm?"

"Mr. Peglar is here?" John asked. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. With Bridgens and Peglar, where one went, the other was not far behind.

"Oh yes, Henry is the one who jogged my memory." He smiled softly. "Just yesterday, as it happens."

"You seem to be handling it well," John said. "Does it not frighten you?"

Bridgens shrugged. "Some of the memories themselves are less than pleasant, as you know, but I'm not bothered by being here if that's what you mean." He fixed him with a level stare. "How are you doing?"

"It's–it's just so _confusing!"_ John whimpered, hating how childish he sounded. " I have two lifetimes to sort through. I woke up this morning, thinking I should write my sister to see how she's doing, only to realize I don't have a sister anymore, she died 100 odd years ago. All six of my siblings are dead and gone. I have two brothers now in this life, and I love them dearly, but I'm still mourning my other family."

"Not to mention the technology whiplash. I grew up as cellphones were being developed, getting tinier and flatter. I watched Saturday morning cartoons like everyone else, argued with my brothers over who got the remote. I own the newest iPhone, complete with AirPods. My Roomba’s name is Gregory." He rambled. "But I also grew up in a time before_ electricity! _How do you deal with that?"

"Shhh, John," Bridgens said, gesturing for him to lower his voice. "It's alright." He continued. "Just breathe. It's okay."

John realized he was breathing heavily. "I think I'm having a panic attack," he said hazily.

"That's exactly what you're having. C'mon, let's go talk in my office."

\---------

Edward was stuck in the most boring meeting of his life, desperately attempting to keep his eyes open, when his phone began to ring.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, swatting at his pockets in an attempt to silence it. His hands finally found his phone and he cut the ringer off.

The entire meeting room was glaring in his direction.

"Sorry, sorry. Uh," he peeked down at the caller ID. "Family emergency. Please, excuse me." He practically leaped from his chair and ran out of the room, closing the door behind him with a too-loud click.

Edward winced. He knew his boss would be talking to him later. Nothing to be done about it now. He answered the call.

"John. Is everything alright?"

"Lieutenant Little. This is Mr. Bridgens. Do you mind stopping by the campus library?"


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to try to spread out my updates, but it's Irving Sunday and this chapter is 90% him so....

Edward drove faster than what was advisable and reached his destination in record time. Mr. Bridgens had assured him it wasn't urgent, John was fine, just a little off-kilter, and could he please come take him home?

Bridgens was waiting for him in the front lobby. "Thanks so much for coming. I would have dropped him off myself, but I take the bus you see, and I didn't want him to take a cab."

"No, no thank you for calling," Edward replied. "Though it was a bit of a shock hearing your voice on the other end of the line."

Bridgens chuckled. "I was delighted to see your name in Mr. Irving's phone as well. Henry's theory seems to be proving correct. We seem to be drawn to each other."

Edward was pleased at the mention of Peglar. It would have been odd, Bridgens without Peglar. "What happened?"

"Poor man started overthinking things." He paused as they drew closer to his office door. "He's having a very hard time adjusting. He...he doesn't see it as a miracle, so much as a divine punishment."

Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sounds like John, yeah."

"I'm...not sure he should be left alone today if I'm being honest." Bridgens murmured.

Edward nodded. "I'll stay with him if he will still accept my company."

Bridgens gave him a confused look. "Why would he not? You two were very good friends if I remember right."

"We were yes, quite good friends. Our, uhm, reacquaintance was a little awkward, is all." Edward explained.

Bridgens smiled knowingly but didn't comment otherwise, choosing instead to open the door.

The lights were dimmed, bright enough so Edward could find his way, but dark enough for the figure on the couch to rest. John was actually snoring lightly as Edward approached.

"He wore himself out. Full-blown panic attack." Bridgens explained.

"Christ, John." Edward knelt next to him. The man's face was red and puffy from crying but looked relaxed in sleep. Edward knew he'd be incredibly embarrassed to be seen in such a state, but it couldn't be helped. Edward gently shook his shoulder. "John, wake up."

John inhaled sharply and recoiled, before registering who it was. "Edward," he breathed. "You startled me."

"C'mon, let's get you home and give Bridgens his couch back." He said as he stepped back to give John room.

He sat up with some difficulty. Edward held his hands out in case he needed to catch him, but he steadied on his own. "M'm fine." He waved him away. "Thank you for coming, Edward, but I could've called a cab."

"What is your address?" Bridgens asked in a flat tone.

"106 Princes St."

Bridgens raised an eyebrow. "In Edinburgh."

"Ah. That's...I concede your point, Mr. Bridgens. I'll go with Edward."

The older man nodded, satisfied. "When you're feeling up to it, you two should join Henry and I for tea."

"Yes, we should all have dinner. Something a little nicer than just drinks at Blanky's." Edward replied with a smile, immediately warming to the idea.

"Well, it seems there are more of us running around than I thought." Bridgens laughed. "Oh, Henry will be so pleased."

They exchanged phone numbers before leaving, promised to get in touch soon, and then trudged out into the bleak London weather. Neither of them spoke until they reached the car.

"So, any luck remembering your current address?" Edward asked, as nonchalantly as possible so as not to embarrass him further.

John chewed on his bottom lip, the pained expression on his face telling Edward everything. His heart broke for the other man.

"Right," Edward said, making a split-second decision. "You'll stay with us tonight. Sort you out in the morning, yeah?"

John's expression was difficult to read, but Edward thought he could see relief. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. That's what friends do, John. God, especially us. After what we went through?."

John nodded and gave him a strained, but genuine, smile. "Thank you, Edward. It's been a long time since I've let myself rely on others’ kindness."

"Well, get used to it," Edward said cheerily, smacking John on the shoulder. "You've got your crewmates again. And if I learned anything out there on the ice, I learned how far kindness for your fellow man can carry you, and what happens in its absence."

John shivered. "I remember."

Edward winced and quickly changed the subject. "Do you mind calling Thomas and letting him know we're on our way?" He passed John his cell phone.

"Sure." He took the phone. "Wait, do you two live together?"

"Sort of? We're still working that out. But he's staying with me, at the moment." Edward couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I assume that won't be a problem?" He said, with ice in his voice, remembering their second first meeting.

John threw his hands in the air. "Why do people always assume I'm a raging homophobe?"

"Well, I don't speak for everybody, but you were very staunchly against it back then, even considering the time period. You were a very religious man. Still are, seeing as you're training to be a priest and all." Edward squirmed a little. "My experiences, all of them, have taught me to be cautious, is all."

John sighed. "Not all religious institutions are so small-minded. But you're right. About me. From before." He grew quiet, but Edward dare not interrupt, sensing the change in his tone.

"I saw it as a moral failing of the men. That it was sinful and abhorrent in the eyes of God." He snorted. "I once told Mr. Hickey that to quell men's worst urges you simply needed to study, or do watercolors, or climbing exercises."

"You were quite skilled in watercolors. I think you had at least a dozen of them by the time we started walking." Edward injected. "They were quite good."

John just looked at him with tired eyes.

"Ah," Edward said.

"I...Edward, I loathed myself. Did everything I could to–to bury that part of myself. I was ashamed. I'm still ashamed. Why do you think I want to become ordained? I'm still trying to fix myself. Make myself acceptable in the eyes of God." He let out a shaky breath.

"So now with these memories coming back, I have twice the guilt! Two lifetimes worth of shameful thoughts and desires." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The only time it didn't feel like a curse was that one damn night, and even it went up in flames."

"Carnivale?" Edward asked. They were parked now, in front of his building, the phone call to Thomas forgotten, but he wasn't going to interrupt John, not when he clearly needed to get this off his chest.

"He–he looked so stupid in that lion hat," John whispered. "But he was so happy and animated and beautiful. He asked me if I wanted to dance, and oh I wanted to, I would have, I was so drunk; but then the Captain called us to order and, well, you know what happened after that."

Edward closed his eyes, picturing the canvas going up in smoke, and the smell of burning flesh. "Yeah."

"I never got another chance." John finished. "Not sure what I would have done if I had."

"Who was it?"

John smiled, a real, bright one that lit up his whole face. "Thomas Hartnell."

"A good man," Edward replied. "He certainly redeemed himself for any past mistakes. Earnest, and very kind." He tried very hard not to think about burying his body. "Maybe he'll turn up as well, and you'll get that second chance."

John blinked. "That. Hadn't occurred to me actually." He looked both excited and terrified.

Edward gave him a warm smile and patted his shoulder. "We'll keep an eye out for him, but in the meantime, maybe try to hate yourself less, yeah? I know you grew up internalizing a lot of bullshit. But it's just that. Bullshit. There's nothing wrong with you." He cleared his throat. The car felt very stuffy all of a sudden. "Now, c'mon, Thomas is going to be so annoyed if we don't get up there soon."

Together they took the steps to Edward's flat two at a time. He kissed Thomas with a little more urgency than usual and hugged him a little tighter than was necessary when he opened the door. I was so lucky, he thought. We were so lucky.

"Well hello to you too, Edward." Thomas chuckled. "John, what a nice surprise." He said, pulling away and sounding confused. He looked at Edward, questions written all over his face.

Edward cleared his throat. "So poor John here has had quite the day." He began, before regaling Thomas with the condensed version of the day's events, leaving out their conversation in the car. John could tell him in his own time.

Thomas took everything in stride like he always did, perking up at the mention of Bridgens and Peglar, and shooting sympathetic glances at John.

"I'll make up the couch tonight," he said, ever the steward, even after everything. "I was about to put some dinner on as well. You look like you could eat."

John did indeed look like he was about two seconds from passing out. "That would be welcome, thank you, Thomas."

"Of course," Thomas replied gently. "Please sit before you fall over. I know how exhausting a panic attack can be."

"You do?" John asked with surprise.

Thomas nodded. "I had them all the time before I understood what was going on. I would wake from a dream–a memory–and I would shake and cry and it felt like there was a giant weight on my chest, making so I couldn't breathe. They've gotten better, lately."

Edward did not miss the small smile Thomas shot his way.

John groaned. "And here I am, having the opposite problem." He put a hand over his eyes.

"People deal with trauma differently," Edward said, moving to sit next to John as Thomas busied himself in the tiny kitchenette. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

"But Edward, that's my specialty." He replied with a wry smile.

The rest of the evening passed in snippets of quiet conversation and companionable silence. After dinner, Edward moved to sit next to Thomas, opposite John. As they chatted with their guest, Edward couldn't help but touch him. Held his hand, bumped their shoulders together, or ruffled his hair. Thomas returned the favor in kind, pinching his thigh when he said something untoward, bumping his foot against Edward's and leaning back into his chest.

Edward would occasionally gauge John's reactions to their displays of affection and was pleased that he seemed to have taken their conversation in the car to heart. It would take some time before John was totally comfortable seeing affection passed so freely between two men, but Edward was more than happy to help him acclimate. It was unfair, what the world had done to him.

John was smiling at them now, albeit a little sadly. "Thank you again, both of you, for putting me up for the night. Hopefully, tomorrow after I've rested I'll be able to find my way home."

"Of course John," Thomas said with warmth.

They bid their goodnights soon after, and as Edward fell asleep, Thomas held securely against his chest, he hoped that John would have a chance to hold his own Thomas soon.

The man deserved something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213740/chapters/47901235) for the tidbit about Irving's address, which I would have never thought to look up on my own. The research ya'll do is incredible. (Also go read it, it's so good.)


	8. Eight

Tom pushed open the surprisingly heavy door to the pub where the HELP WANTED sign was hanging in the window. He'd just moved into the area and, having no money, was willing to work in whatever seedy establishment that would take him. The place had a mixed reputation. Among the university students, it was heralded as the best place for a pint and easygoing conversation. If you asked anyone else, it was an irredeemable pit of sin.

Tom thought it sounded like an adventure.

So there he was on a drizzly Thursday afternoon in his best button-up and trousers, about to apply to a bar. The door closed behind him with a satisfying thud that made every single patron swivel to look at him. Tom could feel himself turning red under his collar. He wasn't one to be the center of attention.

The bartender also took notice of him and left his position behind the bar to greet him. It was an older man with a grey beard and many laugh lines. He had a slightly manic grin on his face as he approached. Inexplicably, Tom was reminded of a pirate. He half expected him to have a peg leg.

"Well, I'll be damned." The man said, in lieu of a more traditional greeting. "Thomas Hartnell. My one time apprentice on the ice."

Tom could only stare blankly at the man. He wasn't making a lick of sense. "How do you know my name?" He asked, suddenly very wary.

"Ah, right. Please, come with me." He turned to lead Tom into what he hoped was simply the back office. "You're here about the job posting I assume."

Tom followed reluctantly, hoping that if he disappeared, that at least someone would recognize him enough to help the police identify him. The back room was small, but not uncomfortably so. The barkeep sat down at a small table in the center that probably passed as his desk. He gestured for Tom to do the same.

Tom sat.

"Right, now that you're sitting down, and we're somewhere private, let's just cut to the chase eh? Rip it off like a bandage." The man leaned forward to touch his hand.

"Rip what off?" Tom squeaked, recoiling. In doing so, he tipped over his chair. He was sprawled out on the floor before he even registered he had fallen.

The man sighed. "That came out wrong. I'm not going to hurt you." He stood up and walked over to Tom. Tom scuttled away on his back like a crab, but he bumped into the wall.

"C'mon then, let me help you up." The man held out his hand.

"Please, sir, I don't want any trouble."

"Christ's sake." He grunted and lunged at him.

Tom flinched, but all the man did was firmly grasp his hand. "What-" he began to say, but then he was in freefall.

_"Tom, tell mum I love her, when you get back."_

_"Don't drop it, it belongs to Lieutenant Irving."_

_"12 lashes for each of you to be delivered before the ship's company by Mr. Johnson as soon as he's finished tying a new cat."_

_"Reformed you, did it?"_

_"He's got a feel for it, this one."_

_"You have my trust, Mr. Hartnell. But you needn't answer if it backs you into a corner."_

_"I'm heading south, with Lt. Hodgson. I just wanted to say goodbye before I took my leave."_

_"You did so well, son. Go. Go be with your brother now."_

Tom gasped for air, like he'd been drowning. He scrambled across the floor.

"Easy, Hartnell. Steady now." Mr. Blanky was saying. Tom felt stupid for not recognizing him immediately.

"Mr. Blanky." He said, for lack of better words.

"Mr. Hartnell." He replied smoothly. "Are you with me?"

Tom could only nod and take Blanky's hand again. The former ice master pulled him to his feet.

"Sit down, I'll fetch you some water." He patted him on the back. "Then I can help you put your head on straight."

Tom sat down heavily in his chair and put his head in his hands. He seemed to be experiencing every emotion at once, and he wasn't sure which he needed to contend with first. A fresh wave of grief over his brother's death, fear over his entire world being turned asunder, joy at being alive. It was so much.

He took a deep breath and began to organize his thoughts. It may have felt recent, but his brother's death was several years before his own, and that grief, while still ever-present, had faded some. It only felt new due to the memories flooding back. He'd leave that emotion for later, then.

Fear, well, what did he have to fear really? His life had already been a mess, hopping from dead-end job to dead-end job, no real future prospects. He had no one but his sister, and she was doing fine without him. This wouldn't change much there.

That left joy. He started to smile, and then a little giggle escaped his lips. Soon, he was full-on laughing, big, chest-heaving guffaws. He probably looked a little delusional, but he didn't care. What a wonder, to be put on this earth twice.

"Well, either you're handling this very well, or terribly. Can't quite tell." Mr. Blanky quipped from the doorway. "Here," he handed him a glass of water. "How are you feeling?"

Tom settled a bit and accepted the glass. "Bit lightheaded, sir, but alright. It's nice to see you, sir."

"Likewise." His smile was just as wide as before, but Tom no longer felt unsettled. "I'm sure you have questions, but trust me, from experience, you should give yourself a day or two to adjust. We never gave poor Irving the chance, and he's a little shell-shocked still."

Tom's ears perked up at the mention of the Lieutenant. "John's around?" He glanced towards the door, before realizing he had used Irving's Christian name, and blushed.

"Well, not right this second." Blanky laughed. " But yes. I can give him a call if you'd like? After I call Francis of course."

It was like an early Christmas. "Captain Crozier?"

Blanky nodded. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, an old flip phone that was at least five years out of date (and wasn't that something to marvel on later, saying a cell phone was out of date when he predated cell phones) and dialed. He only had his ear to the phone for a few seconds before the other person picked up.

"Francis! You'll never believe who answered my ad today. Yes I did." A pause and then Blanky laughed. "No, not so far." He looked at Tom with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yeah. See you soon." He hung up.

"Your Captain is on his way."

\--------

Francis hung up with Blanky and immediately, with only a little difficulty, opened the group chat Thomas had insisted they make.

capcrozier: Thomas Hartnell has made an appearance at Blanky's

He hit send and was relieved to see it went to the right recipients.

Francis pocketed his phone, collected his things and left his office. He was halfway across the parking lot when his phone began dinging repeatedly. He fished it out of his pocket and opened his messages.

**theopenc: **💖💖😃😃😍 my b0y!!!

**ltlittle: **Fantastic news!

**jopson:** Are you going to see him? Tell him hello for me, I'm stuck at work.

**ltlittle: **Again?? Wasn't it your day off?

**jopson: **I know, sorry.

**thelendinglibrary: **Give him my best!

Francis replied that he would send his regards, then set his phone to silent, lest the incessant pinging of the chat drive him mad.

When he arrived at the pub, the door sign was flipped to 'closed'. Francis ignored it and walked inside. "Thomas!" He hollered, assuming they were in the back.

Both Blanky and Hartnell came out of the backroom in response, and Francis laughed.

"Christ now we've three Thomas's."

Hartnell grinned. "I prefer Tom, actually. Shouldn't be too much of a problem." He walked forward, looking so eager a better word would have been scampered and shook Francis's hand. "Captain. Uh, Francis." He greeted, looking a little mortified at using his first name. "Mr. Blanky has just been filling me in. It is good to see you, sir."

"Likewise Tom, likewise." He replied, fondness in his voice. He spared a glance at the other Thomas. "What do you think? Going to hire this one?" He asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Not sure. Needed a second opinion. He's a bit scrawny, you ask me." Blanky said, playing along. "Can he even lift the crates of beer you think."

Tom was blushing a pale pink color, but he was smiling too, and Francis took a moment to appreciate it. The past week had been a whirlwind, with everyone coming together again, but he never tired of seeing the men happy.

"Oh, there is a hidden strength there Mr. Blanky." He said it with a wink but was wholly sincere. "I say you take him on."

"I would be honored sir," Tom said to Blanky.

Blanky rolled his eyes in exasperated fondness. "Oh, of course, I was going to hire you the second you stepped in the doors! Just please don't call me sir. The regulars would never let me live it down." He groused.

Francis took his customary spot at the bar and gestured for Hartnell to join him. Blanky went to the back to give them a moment to catch up. "Now, tell your old Captain, what have you been up to? Oh, and here, Jopson will want to add you to the group chat." He dragged his words out in exaggerated chagrin. "It's insufferable really, but it is the best way to communicate."

Tom pulled out his phone and began saving everyone's numbers. "I've not been up to much if I'm being honest. Just trying to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. Same as any man."

"And that's a noble a goal as any, but surely you have other things. Schooling? Any ladies in your life, handsome lad as yourself?"

Tom snorted. "Uh, not much of a ladies man, sir."

It took him a moment to glean the double meaning. "Ah." He chuckled. "Well you are in good company then, Mr. Hartnell. Seems those jokes about the Navy had some truth to them."

Tom gave him a look of incredulity. "You don't mean to say..."

Francis shrugged. "I can be convinced either way."

He wasn't used to being so forthcoming about himself, but after the other men opened up to him, that first night at the bar, he felt obligated to do the same. He also found that it was making life a lot less lonely. He'd always had Blanky to talk to, of course, but he was actually enjoying being able to talk to the others more as equals than he had in the past.

"But it's not just me, Bridgens and Peglar-"

"Were the worst kept secret on the entire expedition." Tom finished. "Even if I hadn't been good friends with Peglar, they were....not subtle."

Francis laughed."That is true. Jopson and Little were much stealthier. I'd never had guessed if they hadn't told me."

"What?" Thomas sputtered. "You're joking."

"I am not," Francis replied. "Absolutely smitten with each other, honest to god."

"Huh. Never would have guessed." Tom said.

"You never answered my questions, Tom. Don't think I forgot." Francis poked him in the chest.

"Ah, well, no schooling past secondary, I'm afraid. And certainly, no love life to speak of. Wasn't really sure what I wanted to do with myself. My mam passed this last year, and she was the only thing holding my family together." He quieted. "Suppose I've been a bit lost."

"Well," Francis clasped his shoulder. "Now you're found, hmm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me that Peglar doesn't text like a maniac. Have you seen the Peglar papers???


	9. Nine

It was late, Francis knew, and he should be home, asleep. Instead he was in his office, attempting to get ahead on lesson planning. Cancelling his first class of the semester, while a necessary evil, put him a week behind schedule. He rubbed his temples and sighed.

It was harder than normal to approach his curriculum from a solely academic point of view after the events of the past few days. He was tempted to cancel the class altogether, but there were 40 other students in the class that had paid good money to take it. So he would have to persevere.

But perhaps he would persevere tomorrow. He was exhausted from all of the excitement lately, and was finding it hard to focus. He shut his laptop and began packing up his things.

Then there was a knock on the door.

_Jesus_ fucking _Christ_. He thought. _Give a man a break_.

The knocking again, louder, and more insistent. Francis scrubbed his face with his hand and moved to open the door. He would always be there for his men, even if it meant a few sleepless nights.

He expected to see Hartnell, or perhaps Irving, who he knew from talking with Thomas was having a rough go of it. He was not expecting a giant dog.

His heart leapt into his throat. Sitting before him, yet still tall enough to make eye contact was a massive dog, pure white, with thick, shaggy fur.

"Oh, Christ."

The beast let out a low growl that sent shivers down Francis's neck. There was no mistaking those intelligent eyes for a mere animal. He weighed his options. There was no room to dodge around into the hallway, and it was his only exit. He was on the third floor, so jumping out of the window would be risky. Looked like his best bet was taking cover under his desk and trying to fight it off with his letter opener. Fantastic.

"Tuunbaq." A voice said. "_Nakka_."

The spirit turned its head to the voice and gave a small whimper. Francis exhaled.

"Silna. _Atelihai_." he greeted her.

"Hello." She replied, a tiny hint of a smile on her face. She looked very much the same, hair pulled back into her signature braids, though she had switched out furs for a jumper and jeans.

It was strange to hear her speak, even stranger for her words to be English. But Francis had had a very strange week.

"He's....smaller." he said lamely, lacking proper words.

Silna laughed, clear and strong. "When he came to me and awakened my memories he said we needed to come here, to find you all. I told him he would have to be a lot less conspicuous." She patted the creature on the head.

Francis blinked rapidly, still trying to make sense of the scene before him. The last time he'd seen Tuunbaq, it was trying to _eat him_, so it was more than a little bizarre to see Silna petting it.

"Please, come inside. I sense we have much to discuss." Francis stepped aside to give them room to enter. His office was moderately sized, but felt extremely cramped once Tuunbaq entered. He made himself comfortable by sprawling to his full length across the floor.

"I admit I never expected to see you again. And certainly not him." Francis sat at his desk, in a vain attempt to put something between him and the spirit. "He seems much tamer as well."

Silna nodded. "I was successful with bonding with him." She stuck out her tongue. It was pierced with an ornamental ball, made of what looked to be ivory. "He let me keep my tongue, this time. To be his voice."

"You speak with him?"

"Yes, though not in words."

"Can you tell him-"

"He understands you." Silna said. "He only needs me to speak for him, not listen."

"Alright." Francis turned his gaze to Tuunbaq, and tried not to squirm. "I am sorry. For what happened. We did not understand." He struggled to find words for his thoughts. "We were not meant to know of you."

Silna paused as if listening, the replied. "He appreciates your words. He also knows that not all of the men on that journey were ill-intentioned. That is why we are here."

"Hang on, is this your doing? Us being...back here." Francis asked.

Silna sighed. "He will not speak on that matter. Says it is not for us to know. We must only do." She huffed. "He insists we speak of it no more."

"Alright." Francis held his hands up in surrender. "Seeing as he could still maul me to death, I'll defer to his wisdom."

Silna cracked a smile. "He would like to apologize, to those of your men who were undeserving of his punishment. Particularly Blanky."

"Oh I'm sure that will be an interesting conversation." Francis quipped. "I'll be sure to hide the forks."

Silna looked at him in puzzlement, but didn't comment.

Francis continued. "We intruded on your lands, killed your shaman, and have continued to disrespect your ways ever since. You need not apologize to us." He told the Tuunbaq.

"You are good. The people who follow you are good. We will gather them here, then begin putting the world in balance again." Silna translated.

Francis felt a shiver tremble down his spine.

Silna noticed his discomfort. "This is the most the Tuunbaq has ever communicated. I am still learning what he means. He is never clear." She looked incredibly frustrated. "But I agreed to find you again. Not just because he asked it of me."

Francis gave her a warm smile. "I'm pleased you made the journey."

Silna returned his smile. "I am also. Though you make it seem so perilous. I took a plane. The hardest part was convincing him to get into a pet crate and fly in cargo." She gestured to the Tuunbaq, who had rolled over onto his back and was wagging his tail."

It was extremely unnerving.

"Do you have lodgings?" Francis asked, tearing his gaze away from the dog beast.

Silna nodded. "A hostel, not far from here."

Francis should offer her a room, he knew. But the idea of sleeping under the same room as an unknowable spirit made him dizzy. Silna seemed to sense this. She worked her lips.

"Do not feel badly about your unease. I understand." She said softly. "Please know that no harm will come to you now." She stood. "We should go anyways, it is late and I've not slept since the plane. We can talk more later."

"Do you...do you have a phone?" Francis asked.

Silna raised an eyebrow, and reached into her pocket. "For both our sakes, I will pretend you didn't ask that. What is your number? And Goodsir's, if you have it?" She asked hopefully.

"Sorry, no." Francis shook his head. "No sign of the good doctor yet."

Silna's mouth flattened into a straight line. "I will look for him tomorrow, then."

They exchanged information and she departed, Tuunbaq lumbering behind her. He stopped and glanced back at Francis one more time, his eyes sparkling with some unnameable emotion.

Francis exhaled with relief as the creature left. Immediately he knew he wasn't going to share this information with the men just yet. There was already too much going on, and he wanted to be certain of the beast's true intentions. He trusted Silna, of course, but even she seemed wary of the situation. He would wait until he knew more.

He gathered his things, and locked his office behind him, feeling heavier than he had in a long while.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to fellowshipofthegays for brainstorming with me today! It really helped shape this chapter.

<

"Would you _please_ just pick one. You're going to be late to your own event at this rate."

"Now Dundy, one must always look one's best, especially when you'll be speaking in front of a crowd."

"Yes but you've been deciding on a tie for _twenty minutes_. Just admit you're nervous to see Francis and get on with it."

James finally whirled around to face his oldest friend. "I will admit to no such thing." He said emphatically, twisting the silk tie between his fingertips.

Le Vesconte sighed and got up from the stool he had perched on. He snagged the tie away from James and began affixing it to his collar. "Fine. But we're going with this one."

James reached up to adjust the knot, but Henry quickly swatted his hand away. "Stop fussing, you look fine.

Henry steered James to the door and gave him a shove.

\-----------

**theopenc**: Don't forget: FitzJames' b00k talk tonight at 7! 🙃

**jopson**: Edward and I will be there!

**thehartyboy**: wouldn't miss it!

**johnirving**: I'll try my best to be there, but I have a prior engagement.

**ltlittle**: chicken

**johnirving**: I'm not sure what you mean.

Francis read the messages and couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't exactly sure what Edward was ribbing John about, but it was fun to watch. He checked his watch. 6:30. Half an hour until he would know for sure if this man was James. He had already set out his nicest set of 'professor' attire. Nothing too fancy, but nice enough. He'd showered and shaved already. There was little else for him to do but wait.

It was agony.

Swearing under his breath, he moved to get changed. If he was half an hour early, so be it. Better than waiting at home.

It turned out to be a smart move. When Francis arrived, there was already a queue to get in. He tried not to be impressed.

"Cap'n!" He heard over the din of people.

Francis turned in time to see a very tall head of blonde hair weave through the crowd, followed by a considerably shorter man.

"Hello Tom, Henry." He nodded to them. "Where's John?"

"Oh he's already inside." Peglar said at the same time as Tom replied.

"I couldn't get him to come."

"Well I suppose that answers two questions." Francis chuckled.

Henry elbowed Tom in the side. "He might still show up."

Tom looked unconvinced. Francis patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

The line began moving then, as the doors opened. Francis took a deep breath. It was time.

\----------

The book talk itself was very average. James read a few passages from the book, then answered audience questions. Most of them were the usual. 'What made you decide to write about Fitzjames', 'According to this biography it actually happened this way, what are your sources', and the like. James answered these with practised ease.

There was always That Question however. It popped up rarely, but when it did, James wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of the planet. It was never helpful that Dundy would be right there, off to the side, with a look of glee on his face. He was never letting him be his editor ever again, the smug bastard.

'You place a lot of emphasis on the relationship between Fitzjames and Crozier, using such language as "deeply devoted" and "two halves of the same coin". Is there evidence of a deeper, possibly romantic, relationship that existed between them?'

James usually circumvented the question with a line about it being the 1840s, and 'we cannot prescribe our current views and labels about sexuality on them'. Tonight however, was different. With the possibility of Francis being in the crowd, he found he could not be anything less than honest.

"I believe so, yes. There are few surviving letters from the expedition, but one page from FitzJames's personal collection talks extensively about the feelings he has for Fra--Captain Crozier. Many other academics brush this aside, or downplay it as a 'brotherly bond'. I disagree with that interpretation."

There were murmurs around the room, but they settled quickly. The questions moved on, and soon, the event reached its conclusion. James was relieved to get out of the spotlight and into the crowd.

"Well then." Dundy said, appearing behind him suddenly. "That was ballsy."

James shrugged him off. "It was simply the truth."

"I know." Dundy replied with a soft smile. "Have you spotted him yet?"

"I wasn't looking." James lied.

"Mmhmm. Right, well, I'll leave you to it then. Best try to catch him before he leaves." He said, sauntering away.

James was struck by the childish urge to stick out his tongue, but resisted the impulse. He was glad he had, as seconds later, he was approached by someone he'd been eager, but nervous to see all evening.

He looked just the same as James remembered, only healthier. He tried very hard not to stare, to drink in every detail of his face. His beautiful eyes, his strong chin, and his wry smile. He was closer now, and speaking to him. And he should probably pay attention.

"---enjoyed your book." He was saying.

"Oh, ah, thank you. I'm very glad of it."

"I'm Francis Crozier, I teach classes on maritime exploration here at the university." He extended his hand.

James sucked in a breath. This was the moment of truth, but looking upon him, hearing him speak left no doubt in his mind that this was his Francis. He was no longer nervous. He felt calm, and sure of himself as he took the other's hand.

Nothing happened.

They let go at the same time. A culmination of a normal handshake, but to James it felt as if he'd been burned. He looked once again at Francis. His face was unreadable. James wanted to cry or scream but he just stood there. It was a cruel, horrible twist of fate to have this man, who looked and acted so much like his Francis, not remember a thing.

"Yes, well, I should let you get on with your evening. Pleasure to meet you." Not Francis said stiffly, before turning on his heel and leaving.

James ached at the loss.

\-------

Francis's cheeks were burning. How could he have been so stupid, so _naive_. He made a beeline to the door, keeping his head down.

"Sir, wait!" Thomas grabbed his arm as he went by.

"Jopson, piss off." He snapped.

More than used to his Captain's moods, Thomas didn't react. "Where are you going?" He asked instead.

"To get a drink." He bit back. "It-it wasn't him. Leave me alone, Thomas." He tried to shake him off, but the younger man had a firm grip.

"You're an idiot, sir." Thomas said, not unkindly. He spun Francis around. "Look." He pointed.

Francis resisted for a moment, feeling petulant, but eventually gave in. There was James, standing in the crowd looking lost. "Thomas, please let me go."

Thomas held on tighter. "Not him. Look to his left." He said firmly.

There was a very tall dignified fellow talking to James. He was younger than Francis, but was almost completely grey. He waved his hands emphatically in front of James face, saying something.

"Oh."

It was Le Vesconte, one of James's oldest friends.

Thomas let go. "You see, nothing happened because he _already remembers_."

It another second for it all to really sink in, then he was off like a shot. Francis hadn't run that fast in years, and he knew he was going to pull something, but he didn't care. Thomas's laughter rang out behind him, and oh, he would have to thank the man later.

Le Vesconte saw him first, and smiled widely, before gracefully stepping out of the way. James was staring into the middle distance and therefore didn't see Francis until he was kissing him.

They'd not had a chance, before. Duty and circumstances and plain old cowardice had kept Francis from acting on his feelings. Now Francis was done being afraid. James had said it, in front of a hundred people, that he had loved him. What fools they had been.

If someone had told him that someday he would be enthusiastically kissing a man in front of a room of total strangers, hands curled in his hair, his heart beating wildly; Francis would have laughed, loudly and for several hours.

He wasn't laughing now.

Eventually, his lungs protested and he broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against James's. The other man was panting slightly.

"Well." James breathed. "Dramatic opening shot."

Francis punched him lightly in the chest. "Bastard." He muttered.

"Actually my parents are married, this time around."

Francis did laugh then. "Hello James." He said in a whisper.

"Hello Francis." James whispered back. "It's been a long time."

They stood there for a moment, content to be near one another. He reached up and stroked James's face, feeling the familiar lines that framed it. James pressed a kiss to his palm, then laid his head in the crook of Francis neck, inhaling deeply.

*ping*

*ping*

*ping*

"What in the devil's name is that?"

Francis groaned, gently dislodging James to pull his phone from his pocket. "It's the bloody group chat." He said. He spun around and spotted his gang of unruly former crew waving, hooting and hollering and making a general ruckus.

James's face lit up even more. "Oh that's wonderful." He waved, not embarrassed in the slightest. Everyone was there, even Irving had made it, though he looked a bit peaky. Le Vesconte had made his way over to the group at some point and was standing with Bridgens and Peglar. Edward and Thomas were grinning like loons, and Hartnell was slightly off to the side with Irving. Blanky was laughing so loudly Francis could hear him across the crowded room.

"Suppose we should go say hello." He grumbled.

James laughed and Francis's heart soared. James reached out and took his hand. "You know, I don't believe Hartnell has ever heard my Chinese sniper story."

"James, I swear to God--" he stopped mid sentence as he caught sight of another familiar face in the crowd. Two, in fact.

He caught Silna's eye and she smiled. Next to her, looking slightly overwhelmed but ridiculously happy, was Harry Goodsir. Francis was relieved to see no sign of Tuunbaq. He waved to them and gestured to the larger group.

Goodsir waved back with gusto, and the two began heading in the same direction.

They converged on the larger group at the same time, which had the hilarious effect of the men swiveling their heads back and forth, unsure of who to greet first.

Bridgens was on the verge of tears, looking between his old Captain and the doctor.

He addressed James first. "You know, when I told you 'there will be poems', I was not expecting you to write them _yourself_."

"Yes, well, I always did have a flair for storytelling." James replied.

Several people snorted, and Francis rolled his eyes again. "Only you would write a book about yourself.

"Who else better to tell the story?" Edward chimed in.

"Don't you agree with him." Francis pointed a finger. "He'll think he's right."

"It's been two minutes and the bickering has already begun. Lord, spare us." Blanky said, eyes lifted to the sky.

A round of giggles rippled through the group, even Silna smirked.

"Shall we take this elsewhere?" James suggested. "We have so much to catch up on!" He said cheerily.

Blanky of course offered to open the bar. "As long as you don't drink all of my liquor. I do still need to make a living."

They all separated, temporarily, always temporary, to go to their vehicles. Francis, still holding onto James's hand, tugged him gently in the direction of his car.

"Give you a lift?"

James smiled. "Lead the way."

They were twenty minutes later than everyone else getting to the bar.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to fellowshipofthegay again for checking my horrid grammar

This was mad. Insane. What was happening shouldn't be physically possible. It was unnatural and unknowable. Something grand and cosmic beyond human understanding.

Harry should have been terrified, or at the very least, curious. That was his nature, after all. But he found to his surprise, that he didn't really care at all the hows and whats and whos.

All that currently mattered to him was Silna's smile, her laughter, and her warm, reassuring presence. She was seated some distance away from him, having left to grab a beer, but Harry was comforted all the same. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the cacophony of his friends all gathered together again, alive and happy, to remember the first time he heard Silna's voice, those many years ago, then again just this morning.

It had been a fairly normal morning at the clinic. A few runny noses, a rash here and there, and one particularly nasty case of chickenpox, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Until she walked in.

Harry had immediately noticed her, of course. The giant bear-dog thing next to her certainly drew his eye. His poor receptionist shook when she told her the animal was not allowed in the clinic unless it was a service animal. Silna had ignored her. She was solely focused on her mission. 

Harry remembered when their eyes met. He'd felt a jolt of recognition in his gut that threatened to bowl him over. He came around to the front desk, compelled to greet her.

"Hello, can I help you?" He had asked.

Silna had laughed, a rough kind of bark that warmed Harry through and through. Then she had taken his hand.

Memories had flown back into him with ferocity. Fear and confusion as a man bled out in front of him, and a woman crying. A month spent learning from each other, tucked inside the bowels of a ship, sheltered away from their terrible predicament. Blood, so much blood, and fire. A long, painful walk. An even more painful goodbye.

Harry shook his head to clear his mind and bring himself to the present. The noise of the bar came rushing back in. Everyone had reassembled, save for Francis and James, who were nearly twenty minutes late rejoining the group. It didn't take a doctorate to figure out why.

It was funny, actually, how neatly everyone had paired off. Bridgens and Peglar, of course, were still very much together. Harry had spotted a shiny band on Peglar's finger and smiled. 

Then there were Little and Jopson, practically sharing a bar stool, and Hartnell who was clearly trying his hardest to close the distance between himself and Irving. The other man seemed to be struggling with himself, leaning closer, his hand reaching forward, before backpedaling and trying to play it off. It was as painful as it was amusing.

His gaze moved across the room and settled on Silna. She noticed his gaze and smiled softly before turning her attention back to Blanky, who was telling some wild story of his sailing days.

Harry's heart lodged in his throat at her glance, and he wondered, not for the first time if they were heading down the same path as their friends had.

Blanky made an especially wide gesture with his arms which caused Silna to snort beer foam from her drink up her nose. Harry hopped off his stool to her side and patted her back as she laughed and snorted.

"Oh Harry, you never told me how funny Mr. Blanky was." She said cheeks flushed from her laughter. "I am very glad we have a chance to know each other better this time." She nodded to Blanky.

"Likewise." Blanky replied, raising his own drink in a mock-toast. "Wicked sense of humor, this one." He winked at Harry. "You're a lucky man."

Harry was saved from having to come up with a response to Blanky's assumptions by the loud banging open of the pub doors. 

"Finally!" Blanky said. "I would ask what took you so long, but there is a lady present."

Francis and James made their way over to the bar, Francis staring daggers at Blanky. "You're incorrigible." He griped.

"Yes, but you love me." Blanky replied in a sing-song tone as he poured Francis a ginger ale. "James, what'll you be having?"

"Ah, just water please."

Blanky raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating, Captain?" Harry asked. "You just hosted quite a successful party. Not to mention the-the miraculous events of today."

"You've only just woken up today?" Hartnell piped up from further down the bar. 

"I'm sorry, woken up?"

"It's what the men are calling it. Getting our memories back. Like waking from a dream." Francis explained. "Silna found you then I take it."

"Yes, though I'm not entirely sure how."

"I googled you." Silna replied.

"Right." Harry said. Google was a thing. The internet. Electricity. His breath quickened slightly.

"Oh no, I recognize that face." Little said, gently pushing Jopson off of his lap to stand. "Don't overthink it Dr. Goodsir."

Harry suddenly felt very ill. He swayed a bit on his feet, but Silna reached out and steadied him.

"Sit down" she said firmly.

Harry sat.

"Perhaps you should have a lie-down." Bridgens suggested.

"I think that you should listen to your assistant, Doctor." said James, gently patting his back. "Head home, get some sleep."

"Perhaps that is wise." Harry agreed. "It has been a long day."

"I will take him home. He is in no condition to drive." Silna said. 

Harry balked. "I won't impose, Silna."

She rolled her eyes. "Still so proper. Come on. I'll need to stop by my place, feed Tuunbaq, but then I can s--"

Several men spit out their drinks. 

A chorus of "_What?_" rumbled around the room. Irving stumbled backward into Hartnell, knocking the wind out of him. Blanky went pale, with fear or anger, Harry couldn't tell, and Peglar audibly whimpered.

Francis sighed. "Silna...I hadn't told them yet."

"What the hell Francis, you knew?" Blanky shouted. "Why didn't you bloody say something?"

"Because I knew you would overreact!" Francis bellowed back. The room immediately stilled.

"That thing _ate me_, Francis. I'm allowed to be belligerent." Blanky snapped.

"And I'm not saying you shouldn't be." Francis placated. "But there are things going on we do not understand. I am taking Silna's lead on this one."

"He will not harm you again." Silna injected. "I have successfully bonded with him this time. I keep him under control."

"So there's just a giant bear creature wandering around London?" Edward scoffed. "He doesn't exactly blend in."

Silna gave him a wry smile. " He's smaller now." 

Harry tried to keep up with the conversation, but he was still feeling faint. He had met the creature already of course, and he was intimidating, and more than a little unnerving, but Harry didn't believe him to have nefarious intentions. He said as much to the group.

"Look, the only reason he attacked before is our meddling with things. It was our ignorance that caused those deaths." He finished.

"And the death of Tuunbaq himself." Francis added. Harry looked at him in confusion.

"He became ill, from what he ate." He clarified. Harry realized with dawning horror, that that was partially his fault. "I think," Francis continued, tapping the bar. "We have been given an opportunity. An opportunity to make amends. Perhaps we should try."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, or he tried to. The motion made his head swim and he stopped. 

Silna glanced at him. "We can talk about this later. Let me take you home."

"Yes, yes, that is quite enough for tonight." Harry agreed. "Gentlemen, it was wonderful to see you all again." He stood and made sure to shake each man's hand as he left. He was so grateful for this second chance at friendship.

They exited into the chilly night air, Silna's hand firm on his back. She guided him to her rental car, a little hatchback, and eased him into the passenger seat. 

"Thank you again Silna." He sighed. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You don't need to thank me at all." she replied. 

Soon after, the gentle rumble of the engine lulled Harry into a peaceful sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% joplittle and hartving nonsense and I do not apologize.

Thomas was extremely put out. He had been having an excellent evening, first at the book talk, where he was witness to a very sweet reunion of his captains, and then at Blanky's where he had proceeded to celebrate said events by getting tipsy and draping himself all over Edward.

But then poor Goodsir started having a spell, and Silna dropped the bomb that was Tuunbaq's continued existence. He'd spat out his drink, then spilled the rest in his shock. He stared morosely at his button-down. The cranberry juice was never going to come out. 

After such a dramatic announcement, the festive atmosphere had soured, and Blanky all but kicked them out so he could properly rip into Francis. Thomas and the others were more than happy to leave, though James and Le Vesconte stayed behind.

Not entirely wanting their fun to end, Thomas and Edward convinced John and Tom to join them on an impromptu pub crawl. That's how they found themselves, completely plastered, attempting to flag down a cab at 2 am.

Thomas flailed his arm like a windmill to catch the taxi's attention. Edward had his arm around his middle to prevent him from toppling into the street. Thomas giggled. He rarely drank and never to excess, so the light, bubbly feeling in his chest was totally new to him.

"You're such a lightweight," Edward said fondly. 

"Mmm, this is m' first time." He muttered, turning around in Edward's arms to face him.

"What?" He replied.

"M'first time getting drunk. Didn't like the idea much, on account of my mum and the cap'n. But," he continued. "Figured...giant bear. Y'know?"

Edward laughed softly. "Sure Thomas." He looked around. "Shit, where's John and Tom?" 

"Right behind you," Tom answered, looking unfairly sober, though Thomas had watched him drink just as much as anyone else. John was with him, three sheets to the wind. It was easy to tell he was drunk since he would never hold Tom's hand sober. 

"Oh thank god, you got one," Tom said as a cab pulled to the curb. "I was worrying I would have to carry this one home."

"Would've been difficult," Edward said, steering Thomas into the cab, "considering he doesn't know where he lives."

"What?"

"He's been staying with us. His memories are all jumbled up, he can't remember things." Edward explained. "We're hoping it's temporary."

Tom looked at John with sympathy. "That's awful."

John, who finally realized he was being talked about, shrugged. "'S' fine." He leaned into Tom and pushed his nose into his shoulder. "Smell nice."

"Okay, in you go." Tom laughed. 

The four of them settled in, a bit cramped, but Thomas didn't mind, curling into Edward's side. Edward gave his address to the driver.

"If that's alright with everyone, I figured we'd just stay at mine." 

"Oh yeah, absolutely." Tom nodded. "These two will have massive hangovers in the morning and someone will need to take care of them. That's a two-man job." He winked.

Thomas sat up or tried to. "Shit. I work tomorrow."

"You've got sick days built up, surely. Take a day off." Edward said firmly. 

Thomas pouted. "But my perfect attendance record."

Tom barked out a laugh. "What is this, primary school? Relax Jopson, you've had a wild week. We all have." He finished quietly.

John nodded enthusiastically. "Best worst week of my life. Best, cuz I met you guys again. Worst because I'm freaking out about my whole life and I'm re-evaluating my relationship with God and myself and--"

"Woah, John." Tom said, "slow down." He placed his hands on John's. "You don't have to figure it all out tonight."

"Oh, I have figured it all out." He slurred. "I'm just scared about it."

Tom didn't reply, instead, he reached out to John and started running his fingers through his hair in a soothing fashion, much like Edward was doing to Thomas.

A tiny light bulb went on in Thomas's head. He turned his face upward to look at Edward and raised an eyebrow. Edward gave an almost imperceptible nod and smiled. Thomas hummed contentedly. Good for them. 

At some point during the ride, Thomas had drifted off, only waking when Edward prodded him in the side. He half walked, half stumbled up the stairs into their flat--technically still just Edward's flat, but they knew it was only a matter of time before Thomas would move in permanently. Tom was close behind, supporting John in his arms. 

"You can put him on the couch," Edward said as they stepped inside. "Let me put this one to bed, then I'll make us some tea if you'd like."

Tom agreed cheerfully while Thomas moaned. "But I want tea!"

"You'll be getting water, no caffeine for you," Edward replied firmly as they walked to the bedroom. "You need to sleep this off, love."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat at the term of endearment. "You and Tom going to stay up and gossip about your boyfriends?" He asked, testing the word on his tongue.

_ Boyfriend_, how very modern.

Edward laughed. Even through the fog of intoxication, Thomas could see he was pleased. "Probably. Here, sit down I'll take your shoes off."

Thomas obliged and watched as Edward knelt to take off his shoes. "Love you." He said to the top of Edward's head. He stretched and flipped backward on the mattress. "Never told you, before. You said it lots of times, but I didn't."

Edward's hands stilled on his feet for a moment before taking off his socks. "Why didn't you?" He asked with fake casualness. His hands shook as he walked them up Thomas's leg. 

"Scared. We were dying." Thomas shrugged, or attempted to since he was lying down it wasn't particularly effective. "I was already losing so much, couldn't bear to lose more." 

The liquor had really loosened his lips, but Thomas wasn't embarrassed. Maybe a little ashamed, that he wasn't brave enough to say these things without liquid courage in his belly, but he was mostly just glad to have said it.

Edward was unbuckling his belt and tugging his trousers down, but it was an action with no heat behind it, only care. He kissed Thomas's thigh before moving to his shirt.

"Oh! Please put some detergent on that." Thomas slurred. "Cranberry juice."

Edward smiled softly and laid his hand on Thomas's cheek. "Sure." He moved away and Thomas whimpered at the loss of contact.

"I'm getting you some water, I'll be right back." He soothed. "You are a sappy drunk huh?"

"Yeah, but I mean it!" He shouted after his retreating figure. 

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the feeling of Edward's lips on his.

\--------------

"He's asleep." 

Tom looked up from John's face, slack with sleep. He'd only managed to take off John's shoes and get him a throw pillow before he was out.

"Him too." He replied. "Lightweights."

"Yeah, I don't think they drink often." Edward chuckled. "Did you still want that tea?"

"Oh yes, please. I'm not expecting to fall asleep any time soon." He answered.

Edward nodded, his bare feet slapping the tile as he moved into the kitchen to set water to boil. "Me either. Bit unsettled, what with the giant animal spirit roaming around again."

Tom didn't bother suppressing his shiver. "What do you think it wants?"

"Captain seems to think it's here to mend fences," Edward said carefully. "I trust his judgment."

"I didn't ask if you trusted the Captain. I asked what _you_ thought."

Edward shrugged. "Not sure, honestly. But-" he sighed, "I just got all this–" He gestured to his bedroom, then to John and Tom. "–back. I don't want anything to happen."

"Yeah, I get that." Tom spared a glance at John. If he had to go through losing him again, he wasn't sure he'd survive it.

They were quiet for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

"We buried you," Edward said suddenly. "I-I just wanted you to know, we took care of you. You were always so good with- with taking care of the others. I don't even know how many graves you dug. Captain and myself, we wanted to make sure you got your proper dues."

Tom was incredibly touched. One of the last things he remembered was the mutinous camp pointing guns at them, so he could only imagine they had bigger things to worry about than sending him off right.

"That means more than I can say, truly. Thank you." Tom said, his voice cracking slightly.

Edward nodded. "Of course."

The kettle whistled, startling them both, and the moment was broken. When Edward returned from the kitchen with the tea, he was smiling again.

"So. How's this life been treating you?" He asked as he settled himself in an armchair. He passed him a teacup. Tom accepted it gratefully, the warm steam chasing away thoughts of cold and ice. He shrugged.

"Not too bad. Working at Blanky's as you know. Sending money to my sister when I can, she's got a baby on the way." He smiled. "Never thought I'd get to be an uncle. John was so enraptured with sailing, he was never gonna settle down."

Edward chuckled. "I was the same. Never planned to leave the Navy. Well, congratulations. It's good fun."

"You're an uncle?"

He shook his head. "Not now. Only child. But uh, before I had twelve siblings so. Quite a few nieces and nephews."

"It's weird, isn't it? Having two families to keep track of." Tom mused. 

"Two lives," Edward added. "It's gotten easier. Well, for some of us." He looked at John, still passed out. "He's...he's in a bad way. Dr. Goodsir, too, based on how he collapsed tonight." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm worried that it may not be temporary. I'm no scientist, but surely something like this is taxing on the brain?"

Tom frowned. "I have had a splitting headache the past few days. But, if it is true, what can we do about it?"

"Perhaps Dr. Goodsir will have some ideas." 

"I hope so." Tom looked at John again. He couldn't help but smile as he drooled on the pillow. He brought his hands up to his hair and started fixing a few fly-aways.

"I'm glad to see John's affections are returned." Edward grinned.

"Wha--I-I don't" he snatched his hand back. "Wait, did you say John's affections? For-for me?"

"Christ, you two are dense," Edward said with great fondness. "Worse than me and Thomas." He leaned forward in his chair. "He fancies you."

Tom paused for a moment. "Have you been talking to Peglar?" 

Edward gave him a puzzled look.

"Nevermind." Tom waved a hand. "Did John tell you this?' he asked desperately, like a teen girl at a slumber party.

Edward grinned wider. "Not sure it's my place to say, really."

"You are being a twat." Tom looked around for something to throw at him, but the only thing was the throw pillow that John was sleeping on.

"Careful there, you're talking to a superior officer," Edward replied.

"Cheeky." Tom laughed.

John snorted and rolled over in his sleep.

"Oh shit," Tom whispered. "We best keep it down."

"Oh yes, can't wake sleeping beauty." 

"I'm sure Thomas is the picture of serene and graceful when he's asleep," Tom said dryly.

Edward stifled his laugh with his fist. "Point taken."

They continued that way, trading light-hearted jabs back and forth until the sun began to peek over the horizon.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thank you to fellowshipofthegay for editing and helping me with military nonsense.

The next morning came far too soon for everyone. In a small flat in central London, four men sat around a tiny kitchen counter, groggily drinking orange juice while the least hungover of the bunch fixed toast and eggs.

In a modest house to the south, a man woke to a large pressure on his chest caused by an enormous dog. The woman in his bed next to him smiled and curled closer in his arms.

Two men woke similarly, in a flat near campus. One read to the other from the morning newspaper, the other wrapped in so many blankets it was hard to tell him apart from the bed. 

One man woke in the back room of his pub, having not even bothered to drive home. Another was already awake, having not slept at all. Two more men packed their things to move on to the next stop on a book tour they both wanted to abandon.

Another man woke as he always did, dressed, and immediately went to work editing photos he'd taken the night before. This man had been present at the book event, though no one had taken any notice of him. He was exceptional at blending into the background, as any good reporter was. 

He clicked through the photos, looking for an interesting angle for a story. He landed on a picture of the author, John Fitzgerald, long thought to be a pen name, embracing another man, kissing him deeply. Not normally one for scandalous love affairs or gossipy romance, he skipped it for now. He'd go back to it if nothing else intrigued him. 

He took careful notes of everyone who attended, looking up the names of those he didn't recognize from the university's website. He was able to place a name to the face the author was snogging. Francis Crozier. The name sounded very familiar. A quick google search revealed the connection. Now this was something that piqued his interest. A man who teaches a class on maritime exploration who just so happens to share a name with the second in command of one of the most well known doomed Arctic voyages? 

It was most likely a humorous coincidence, but coincidence didn't make a good story. He'd have to find a way to spin it. Did the man have a hero worship problem? Was it a Salvador Dali situation, where he believed he was the man reincarnated? Did he change his name or was that his given name and he just went full method?

He started drafting up an outline and found himself feeling the oddest sense of deja vu. He shook it off and continued. He had expanding the story to include John Fitzgerald, and had postulated a theory that it was a poor pen name for James Fitzjames, the subject of the book the author had written. He was weaving an entire web of lies and conspiracy that he would probably only successfully get published in the trashiest of tabloids, but he'd never cared much for journalistic integrity. If it made him money, that was good enough. 

Never mind the tiny voice in the back of his head that told him it wasn't so implausible at all. Never mind the strange flashes of familiarity he felt as he looked through the photos. 

Typically, a first draft would take him a few days, but he completed his work in a few hours. Triumphantly he re-read his writing and feeling satisfied, sent it out to different tabloids for review, making sure to sign his initials at the bottom of each email.

E.C.

\---------  
Solomon Tozer was also having a rough morning. He'd worked late on campus, helping clean up after the book talk, then immediately headed to his second job stocking shelves at Tesco. He hadn't actually gotten home until 0800. He'd promptly passed out on his futon, boots still on his feet.

He was up again at 1000, not because he wanted to be, but because his damn internal clock could not be swayed into sleeping in, even on a Saturday. Huffing in frustration, he got up, changed out of his work uniform and into athletic joggers. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least run. He headed to campus, the closest place to his flat with decently upkept sidewalks.

Solomon couldn't stand staying still. He didn't technically need his second job, hated it in fact, but it was better to be doing something in the lonely hours of night when he couldn't sleep than to stare at his ceiling for hours. He couldn't remember the last time he slept a full eight hours, but it had been at least two weeks. He'd dealt with bouts of insomnia before, but nothing like this.

He supposed it was better than the dreams.

He shook his head to clear his mind and tried to focus on running. The rhythmic slap of his trainers against the pavement, the sweat beginning to form on his temples. He focused on his breathing, on the birdsong in the trees. One bird made a shrill, single note whistle, and Solomon stumbled. The noise reminded him of something, but he couldn't place it.

He found himself outside the library, a place he only frequented when his job required it. Solomon wasn't much for reading. But, he was thirsty, and the water fountains there were some of the coldest on campus, so he went inside.

It was quiet, as he suspected, and there were only a few students studying in secluded corners. He headed for the water fountain and drank greedily. He was thirstier than he'd thought. Wiping his mouth, he stepped back, bumping into someone as he did.

"Oh sorry," He said.

Mr. Bridgens stared back at him, panic in his face. They stared at each other for a long moment before the older man exhaled and relaxed.

"That's alright Mr. Tozer." He said simply, then turned on his heel and hurried off.

That was strange. Usually the librarian was keen on long rambling discussions with anyone he saw. He would have been offended if he cared enough. He told himself he didn't and shrugged it off.

It bothered him the entire way back to his flat.


	14. Fourteen

Silna sighed heavily, her hand resting on the large oak doors.

"Are you sure?" She asked her companion.

The spirit nodded his shaggy head.

"He was very upset, before. He may not listen." Silna replied.

Her mind was filled with images of clocks, of the sun setting and rising rapidly. A dove.

She sighed. "Yes, it has been two weeks, he may have calmed down. But I wouldn't count on it." She chewed her bottom lip. "Okay. Here we go."

She gave the doors a shove. They opened easily, and she held the door for Tuunbaq, who lumbered inside.

A moment later she realized her mistake when she heard a loud yell and several banging noises.

"Shit." Silna hurried in after Tuunbaq.

The scene before her would have been quite comical, if it wasn't also terribly dangerous. Blanky was holding a pool cue in front of him, silently circling the massive dog. Tuunbaq was bent low, growling.

"Get that bloody thing out of here." he said in a dark tone. "I will defend myself."

Silna sighed deeply and headed to the bar, ignoring Blanky. The man was reasonable, she remembered. He just needed to feel in control of the situation, so she let him.

"He just wants to talk." Silna said as she helped herself to a beer off tap. 

Blanky stared her down for several moments before deflating and setting the pool cue on the ground. "Fine. But I'm not letting it anywhere near me."

"Well I wasn't expecting you to cuddle." She replied dryly. This earned her a wry smile from Blanky.

He joined her at the bar, choosing to sit next to her rather than take his usual place behind the counter.

Blanky grunted. "What does it want?" He glared at the giant dog.

Silna looked to Tuunbaq. Images flashed through her mind and she took a minute to parse it out. "Well. Firstly to apologize."

Blanky snorted but remained silent otherwise. Silna continued, translating Tuunbaq's words. "For you leg, and later your life, he is sorry. He knows now, yours is the heart of an explorer, not a colonizer."

"Well, I was serving under the banner of the world's best imperialists, so I don't really blame him for being misled." Blanky reached over to help himself to a beer, as Silna had done.

"I'm not actually angry, y'know." He finally said after a tense silence. "I'd have been pissed too, if it'd been my home that was invaded." He looked over at Tuunbaq. "But I'm man enough to admit seeing him scares the piss out of me. It wasn't a quick death." He finished.

Silna shuddered as images from Tuunbaq filtered through her mind. Blanky struggling in his powerful jaws, swinging blindly with his knife, his blood painting the rocks red. 

"I know."

"What's he want with us now?" Blanky asked, taking a long swig of his beer.

Silna exhaled forcefully. " He won't say." She glared at her companion, who was laying across the room, looking as sweet and innocent as could be. Silna knew better. "He's says we need to wait."

"What on earth for I wonder." Blanky mused.

As if on cue, Silna's phone began to buzz. Blanky raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Group chat." Silna said.

"I'm so glad I don't have a fucking smartphone."

Silna laughed. "They're not that annoying." Although before, she had had little interaction with the others outside of Harry and Francis, she was beginning to tentatively consider the others acquaintances, if not friends.

She swiped up to read the messages. New ones were pouring in so fast, she couldn't scroll back up to read the beginning.

**ltlittle:** are you FUCKING SERIOUS.

**thehartyboy:** I can't bring myself to read it, what's it say?

**jopson:** Ridiculous tabloid nonsense no one will believe, but this e.c person is uncomfortably close to the truth. Do you think it's someone from the expedition?

**tombowline:** no one had those initials.

**capncrozier:** Fucking Christ. Could be Hickey. He killed the original to board the ship, so his name could be e.c.

**johnirving:** oh god

**ltlittle:** I'm not as surprised by this as I should be

**theopenc:** what??!???

**thelendinglibrary:** Maybe we should meet to discuss this in person. 

Silna groaned. "Is this what you wanted us to wait for?" She spun around to glare at Tuunbaq. "Hickey? Really?"

Blanky whipped his head up to look at Silna. "That fucking rat is here?"

Silna slid her phone over to him. "I think so? Honestly can't keep up with what is going on." Her phone was still dinging with new messages. Blanky read them and groaned.

"Francis is calling a meeting. Tonight. Here of course." Blanky rubbed his temples. "I should start making you all pay a cover charge." He muttered.

Tuunbaq stood up and padded over to them, nudging Silna's hand. She rolled her eyes and began scratching the beast behind the ears. 

She hadn't asked for any of this. Before, she had attempted to take her father's place as shaman, and had failed. She hadn't been ready for the responsibility then, and she wasn't sure she was ready now. But this time, Tuunbaq had chosen her to lead these confused, wayward men to some greater task. 

It felt a little like herding cats.

"You better have a good plan." She grumbled to her companion as she scratched his chin.

Tuunbaq licked her palm and wagged his tail.


	15. Fifteen

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind. James had quickly wrapped his book tour, cancelling his last two stops so he could return to London as quickly as possible. He'd kept appraised of the going ons via a terribly active group chat, and had called Francis every day while he was away. They kept their chat light, neither of them certain how to proceed after the events of their reunion. 

"It's called _dating_", Dundy had teased. James had flipped him the bird. Besides, there were more pressing concerns in James's mind. They couldn't ignore the strange circumstances they found themselves in, and there was the matter of the giant spirit bear-dog-thing to contend with.

But for the moment, James allowed himself to relax. He was finally home and able to stay there for more than a night. Indulging himself, James began drawing himself a bath. He even pulled out a Lush bath bomb his sister had gotten him for his birthday and added it to the steaming bathwater. 

James watched in fascination as the water turned a deep blue, the scents of lemon and lavender filling his nose. Tiny flecks of seaweed dotted the surface. He slid down into the water with a sigh. 

Naturally, this is when his phone rang. He was gearing himself up to be extremely annoyed when he read the caller id and saw it was Francis. Any irritation immediately evaporated, and he answered with barely contained glee.

"Francis, I didn't expect to hear from you until tomorrow!" 

"Have you seen the article?"

"What? No, what article?"

His phone pinged as Francis sent him a link. He pulled the phone away from his ear to check.

"Oh god."

"I haven't shared it with the others yet. Figured we'd discuss it first." Francis said, sounding grave.

James had to laugh. "Francis, we're not their captains anymore. We don't need to discuss what to do next, what to tell the men. They aren't our men anymore."

"Yeah, tell them that." Francis grumbled. "They're more than happy to slip back into their old roles."

James made a non-committal noise. "Not entirely. Jopson certainly speaks his mind more than he would have. And Little has relaxed considerably. I think, Francis, they see you less as a captain and more like..." he trailed off.

Francis sighed into the phone. "Yes, yes I know. Blanky won't stop reminding me." He was putting on an air of annoyance, but James could practically hear his smile.

"Well then _ Dad,_ what are we going to tell the children?" James quipped.

"I'm going to hit you James." Francis deadpanned. "Let's just link them to it, and try to keep them calm. It's a trashy tabloid article anyways, it won't gain any traction."

"Let's hope not." James agreed.

They hung up shortly after, and James quickly abandoned his bath to lend Francis his support in the chaos that was erupting in the group chat. He watched with sadness as the bright blue water swirled down the drain. His fingers hadn't even had time to get pruney. 

\---------

It was a good thing John was not alone when the news dropped that Hickey was most likely responsible for the article, and likely had his memories intact. He had immediately begun to spiral into a panic attack, and the only thing that kept him grounded was Tom's quick thinking.  
He grabbed him around the middle and held him fast.

"Woah, John, easy. You're alright. You're safe. Breathe. Deep breaths, that's it." Tom murmured in his ear, his own breath hot on John's neck. John tapped Tom's hand rapidly, and Tom released him.

"Sorry, sorry." Tom said, "Too close?" He asked.

John nodded mutely. Having Tom that close was giving him an altogether different reason to panic. In the two weeks since his life had been upended, he and Tom had spent most of their time together, either with Edward and Thomas, or just the two of them. John wasn't an idiot. He knew where this was headed, but he was dragging his feet, stuck in his old ways, more strongly than _Terror_ had been stuck in the pack.

Tom had been nothing but patient with him, taking him to his church, a non-denominational place where they were welcomed instead of shunned, and told him that yes, he had feelings for him, but that John's comfort came first, and they could go as slow as he liked, if at all.

John had decided on a glacial pace.

"Alright?" Tom asked.

"I think so." he answered, sucking in a ragged breath. 

Tom approached him again, slower this time, and took his hand. "If it is him, John I promise you I won't let him even look at you. He won't get anywhere near you."

"It's foolish of me, to be so afraid." John chided himself.

"John. Not to be insensitive, but _he murdered you._ I would also have an adverse reaction if it were me." Tom squeezed his hand. "Stop being so hard on yourself."

John huffed. "I know nothing else."

"Well, then let me teach you."

\------------

Henry spun the gold band on his finger in an attempt to quell his nerves. His eyes scanned the article, but he was having trouble absorbing the words, and not because of his dyslexia.

"Well that is a very nice picture of our captains. They look so happy." his husband mused from behind him. 

"John, what do you think will happen?" He asked nervously.

"Likely nothing. It's an article in _The Sun_, hardly reliable news. As for Hickey's involvement, that's just speculation." John said soothingly.

"I'd just hate for this to gain traction. What if people believe it? They'd never leave us alone."

John raised his eyebrow. "Believe that we are the reincarnated souls of dead sailors from the 1800s? Love, I barely believe it, and we're living it." 

"Fair point."

\-----------

Harry had finished at the clinic as soon as he received the messages. Francis had set a meeting time later that night, to accommodate everyone's work schedule, but Harry found he could not continue his day as if nothing had happened. He called Silna on his way out.

"Harry," she answered. "Are you panicking?" 

"What- how did you- no. I am perfectly calm." 

He could picture her bemused expression perfectly.

"Right. Well, I have good news for you, if that will help." She offered. "Blanky did not immediately murder Tuunbaq. In fact, they're getting along rather well now." 

He could hear how pleased she was in her tone. He could also hear Blanky's gruff laughter in the background.

"What, exactly, are they doing?" Harry asked, though he was afraid of the answer. 

"I honestly couldn't tell you. But they're having fun." The sound of glass shattering made them both pause. "I should go."

"Yes, right. I'll see you when I arrive."

"Goodbye Harry." She said in a light tone.

"See you soon. I love you." He said, hanging up the phone. It took him a full thirty seconds to comprehend what he'd let slip.

"Oh no."

\--------

Edward was at work, and it took every but of discipline he had not to leave early. He was already in hot water for skipping out on that meeting two weeks ago, and he really couldn't afford to be fired.

His cubicle gave him little in the way of privacy, but he still texted the group chat with urgency. He also privately messaged Tom to make sure John was not alone. 

That was, naturally, when the boss decided to show up.

"Little." she snapped. "We've discussed this. No personal use of cell phones during office hours. Unless you have another family emergency?" 

Edward winced slightly but steadied his nerves. "As a matter of fact, it is urgent."

They stared each other down for a few tense moments, before she relented. "Very well. But I expect those reports on my desk by 5." She said stiffly before turning on her heel and leaving.

Edward waited until she was around the corner, and whipped out his phone again.

It _was_ a family emergency, after all.

\----------

Blanky thumped the floor. "A'right, you giant furball, I yield."

Tuunbaq woofed and rolled off of Blanky's chest. He was certain the creature was giving him a smug smile, even though he was a dog incapable of sophisticated facial expressions.

"What is going on back here?" Silna asked, her cellphone still in hand. She looked to be slightly dazed, but she shook her head and the expression cleared.

"Rematch!" Blanky replied. "Man vs Beast. No weapons, just a test of mettle." He pushed himself onto his feet. 

"Looks like you lost." Silna said with great amusement.

"No, that was simply a warmup." Blanky countered. "The real match has yet to begin."

"Uh-huh. Well, you'll have to reschedule; Harry is on his way over, and I doubt he would react well to seeing you being mauled." Silna smirked.

"Yes, well, I would win this time."

"Of course."

\---------

As soon as the clock ticked over to 5pm, Thomas was out of his chair, down the stairs and out the door before his boss could cajole him into staying late again. He had more important things than work to worry about.

Fueled by nervous energy, he made it to Blanky's in record time. It looked like the bar itself was still open to the public, which made sense. Poor Blanky couldn't keep closing his doors randomly to accommodate their seemingly never ending emergencies. He still had a business to run, and poor Tom still needed a job.

Still, it made parking more of a pain than usual, and Thomas ended up having to walk a considerable distance. He passed Silna and Harry's cars on the way to the door, but didn't see any others he recognized.

He was indeed the third to arrive. Silna and Harry had commandeered a large table near the back of the bar, away from the few patrons that had decided to start drinking early. Blanky was busy tending the bar, but gave him a nod when he entered.

He quickly maneuvered through the tables to the back. "Hey." he said awkwardly. He'd not had much reason to speak with Silna before, and other than the group chat, had not talked to her much this time around either.

Dr. Goodsir gave him a warm smile. They'd not interacted too much either, but from what he heard, Harry Goodsir was just a very friendly person. 

"Mr. Jopson, hello." he reached across the table to offer his hand.

Thomas shook his hand and sat down. A disgruntled huff came from under the table as his feet connected with something soft.

"Oh," he looked down and immediately sat back up. "Uh. Is that..."

"Yes." Silna replied.

Thomas scooted his feet back. "Right."

Silna smiled, clearly enjoying his discomfort. 

"He's quite tame, actually." Dr Goodsir said. "Quite the conversationalist as well." He added nonchalantly.

"He _talks?_" Thomas squeaked. This was almost too much for him.

Silna laughed, and Thomas caught a glimpse of her ivory tongue piercing. 

"He doesn't actually speak. We...communicate, and I translate." She explained.

That was still insane, but slightly easier to swallow. "Sure." He cleared his throat. " Hello Tuunbaq."

The dog-bear-thing below him gave a quiet 'boof' in response. 

Thomas suppressed a shudder. They made enjoyable small talk while they waited for the others to arrive. Silna was actually a very warm person, once she started talking. He was laughing at a story involving Dr. Goodsir's terrible pantomime skills and a lantern when he heard familiar footfalls behind him.

"Blanky's cleared out the back room for us." 

The unmistakable voice of Francis Crozier spurred him to stand. He saw Francis begin to wave him back down, only to remember they were moving anyways. Thomas carefully stepped out from the table, hyper aware of Tuunbaq beneath him, and followed Francis into the back. 

Silna and Goodsir both pulled and pushed Tuunbaq in the correct direction, as he was much more interested in the pretzels on the table next to theirs than moving forward. Between the two of them they managed to get him into the back room.

It wasn't long after the others began to trail in. It was silly, he knew, but Thomas's heart still flip-flopped in his chest when Edward appeared in the doorway. He was pleased to see that Edward was still equally affected, if the way he rushed to his side was any indication.

"Hi." Edward said, sounding a little winded.

"Did you run here?" Thomas asked.

"Just across the parking lot." 

Thomas tried to hide his smile. Edward pulled up a chair and sat. Peglar and Bridgens took the chairs opposite them, while John and Tom sat to Thomas's right.

Fitzjames appeared next and took his place next to Francis, who was standing at the head of the table. Le Vesconte snuck in shortly after, a bowl of pretzels in hand. Blanky was absent, running the bar.

Francis let them settle for a moment, exchanging greetings and chatting a bit. Thomas was grateful for this, as the tension in the room had been almost unbearable with everyone assembled. Eventually though, they had to talk about what they'd gathered for.

"Men," Francis began. "It's good to see you all again. Maybe at some point we can have a gathering that doesn't include serious talk. But, today is not that day. We need to discuss this....article that has surfaced."

"That's a little generous, don't you think?" James interjected.

Francis chuckled. "Indeed it is James. Which is exactly my point." He continued. "There is nothing to worry about. I highly doubt this will gain any real traction, and if it does, it will only be with the most dedicated conspiracy theorists."

"That still sounds like a potential problem." Edward said.

"Potential. Let's not get caught up in things that have yet come to pass." Francis replied. "I do, however, think it reasonable to prepare for the possibility. James and I have prepared statements, should we be approached. The article doesn't actually mention any of you by name, but you do appear in some of the photos, so I would think of what you want to say if these people come knocking."

"Something simple," James added. "Incredulity at the suggestion is really all that's needed."

"Well what about who wrote it? Did we ever discover their identity?" Thomas asked. This was the question he really wanted answered.

"No, unfortunately." James said. "There is no information to go off of. I called the publisher, but that was a dead end. They wouldn't tell me anything."

"It's most likely just some reporter who concocted a story based around no evidence other than our names, and it just so happens to be the truth." 

"Or it could be someone else we've not encountered yet." Goodsir said. "Silna says there are most likely more, though Tuunbaq won't give her an exact number. Or tell her much at all, really."

The beast in question barked loudly, startling many of them. Thomas was dying to get answers, but he knew from before that Silna and Tuunbaq would only give them in their own time.

"Well, it isn't Tozer." Bridgens said, after he collected himself. "I ran into him the other day, literally, at the library, he seemed totally in the dark still. I took care to keep it that way. Luckily he was wearing a jacket, or I might have woke him up."

"If Tozer is here, Hickey must be as well." John said, visibly paling.

"We have zero evidence for that." Francis said firmly. "And even if it is Hickey, he could have just made a lucky guess, based on the dreams that we all seem to have had, and not have regained his memories proper. We just don't have enough information to speculate."

"So it's best we just go about business as usual?" Le Vesconte asked.

"I don't know about you, but I'm still figuring out what 'usual' is." Peglar piped up.

"Suppose it's this ain't it." Tom mused. "Old friends in new times. Supporting each other like we did before. But, y'know, less dying."

"Here here." James agreed.

"So it's settled then. Be cautious, prepare yourself for any prying eyes, but try to relax hmm? This has all been stressful enough." Francis finished. 

The room felt lighter then, like hearing their captain speak lifted a great weight off their shoulders. Thomas could certainly feel it. 

They spent the rest of the evening together through silent agreement. It was considerably more successful than the last time, though Tuunbaq's presence still unnerved some of them. Blanky stopped in when he could, and they caught him up on what he missed. Thomas was shocked when Blanky patted Tuunbaq on his flank as he headed back out the bar.

"Didn't expect that." Edward laughed.

"None of this was expected." Thomas answered. "I've rearranged my whole life in two weeks. Speaking of, don't let me forget to give my keys back to my landlord tomorrow."

"You, Thomas Jopson, need a reminder? What is the world coming to?" Edward jested.

"Fine then, I'll just move back out." 

Edward's already large eyes grew larger and he looked so upset Thomas almost felt bad for teasing him.

"Edward, I'm kidding." 

He relaxed against his chair. "Yeah, of course." He said, though he still sounded unsure.

Thomas sighed fondly and grabbed Edward by the jacket to pull him in for a kiss. He would never tire of the way Edward melted against him every time. His mouth opened slightly, asking for more, but Thomas pulled back.

"I love you, but we are not making out in front of Francis." Thomas laughed. 

Edward wrinkled his nose. "Bit like getting caught snogging by your parents."

"Worse." Thomas replied. He reached out and grasped Edward's hand as a compromise. He looked around the room at his former shipmates, his friends, and then back to Edward, warmth spreading in his chest.

This was worth it, he thought. Even with the crazy news articles and giant bear spirits. All the trouble in the world couldn't convince him otherwise.

Two days after this, Edward will come home bleeding from a cut on his forehead, supporting an unconscious Tom Hartnell, and Thomas will rethink his position on the matter.


	16. Sixteen

"You know, I just realized I don't know how you take your coffee." Francis said, bemused.

"Hmm. Oh, oh black is fine." James replied, only slightly startled. 

They were in Francis's classroom, the man himself busy grading papers, and James quietly reading next to him.

"Are you sure I'm not a bother? I don't want to distract you from your work." James said.

"James," Francis replied, drawing out the syllables. "You're fine where you are. I invited you here to distract me. If I focus too hard on these essays, I will begin to nitpick, tearing each one apart until there is nothing left. It's remarkable what these students write. It's like they don't even listen to my lectures."

"Save for a few star pupils of course." James said with a smile, plucking Thomas Jopson's paper from the stack.

_"Based on evidence left behind, particularly from the Peglar papers, one can assume that the men on this journey had strong bonds with each other. This contributed to their length of survival, and might have led to their rescue, had it not been for the few mutineers that caused fractions in the group. In this essay I shall discuss evidence that supports the existence of such mutinous intentions and how I believe it led to the expedition's failure." _James read aloud. 

"Was there clear evidence of mutiny left?" James asked. 

"Not to an unknowing eye. But Thomas paints a very believable picture, without giving away the fact that he was there." Francis said with barely concealed praise. 

"Bold, to use first person in an essay." 

"Effective though." 

"Mmm, indeed." James agreed. 

James took a sip of his coffee mindlessly and scalded his tongue. "Ack." He sputtered. 

Francis quickly handed him his water bottle. "Good god, be careful. "You know," he said slyly, "coffee is typically served hot." 

"Hush old man." 

Francis placed a hand to his chest. "You wound me James." He pouted. "I'm a spry fifty-two. And with age comes wisdom. Like knowing not to gulp down piping hot coffee." He gave James a wily grin. 

"Incorrigible." James muttered, but he was smiling too. 

"You know James, I've been thinking..." Francis began. 

James turned his chair so his and Francis's knees were touching and he could look directly at him. 

He felt Francis still for a moment and couldn't help but be pleased. Francis recovered quickly, and pushed on. 

"I think it would be beneficial for the students if they were to have a guest lecturer. Something to break the monotony of listening to me droll on every day. 

James thought that he could listen to Francis droll on forever, but did not voice this out loud. "And you think I'd be a good candidate." he guessed. 

"Well, you are the most respected authority on James Fitzjames in academia." Francis replied. 

"Not everyone thinks so. Many of my colleagues disagree with my 'interpretation'." James said derisively. 

"Really? Well, you have the satisfaction of knowing they are wrong, at least." 

James shrugged. "A small consolation yes." 

Francis furrowed his brow. "I've read your book, and even without knowing it was you, I thought it to be most accurate. What could possibly be argued against?" 

James sighed. "You know exactly what other scholars have taken issue with." 

"Yes, I do. A lot of modern academia is unfortunately under the impression that gay people didn't exist until the 20th century. Dare to suggest otherwise and people flip their lids." Francis grumbled. "Fucking preposterous, apparently." 

"It's so incredibly frustrating, Francis, to watch people hold discussions about your life, the letters you wrote, the things you said, and make assumptions and postulate theories about who you were, and then come to the wrong conclusions!" He huffed. 

"And then, to be told you are incorrect, _about your own life_, it's almost too much for a man to bear." he finished quietly. 

Francis nodded and put a supportive hand on James' shoulder. "At least we were remembered at all. That's something, hmm?" 

James laughed, but it was tinged with a bitterness. 

"Look at you, almost as sour as I was. Come now, you must give a lecture to my students. That's a whole new generation you can impart the truth on. A new audience for your Chinese sniper story too." 

James's laughter was genuine this time. 

"Alright, you've convinced me. I'll do it." 

_\----------_

James had always had a way with words, and his lecture was a big hit. Francis watched in satisfaction as James captured the attention of his students. Even the few who had a bad habit of nodding off were rapturously taking in every word. He made eye contact with Thomas, who made a show of rolling his eyes and slumping in his seat in jest. Edward elbowed him firmly in the side with a bright grin. James continued on, unaware of any shenanigans. 

"And that is a concise history of James Fitzjames’s time on the HMS _Clio_. Thank you." 

James gave a slight bow as the class gave enthusiastic applause. Francis is almost positive he heard a whistle. He got up from his desk to address the class. 

"If anyone has questions for Mr. Fitzgerald, the floor is open." 

Several hands shot up eagerly. Francis enjoyed the look of delight on James's face. This crowd was vastly different from those who had gone to the book talk. Younger faces, more excited about the subject, and less bored academics only attending to appease their department heads. 

To Francis's great amusement, John Irving's hand was raised. James also had a smirk on his face when he called on him. "Yes, you there." 

Yes. Could you elaborate on yo--_ Fitzjames's_ injuries from the cheetah?" John winced at his mistake, but no one else seemed to notice. 

"Of course." James said smoothly. "He discusses them in length in several letters to a dear friend--" 

Francis had stopped listening. Not because he wanted to, no, he rather enjoyed James's stories now, but he had caught sight of an all too familiar head of red hair. 

"Fuck." he muttered. 

_\-------_

Ezra barely paid attention during the actual lecture, instead doodling mindlessly in the composition notebook he'd brought. He'd done his research previously, and was already familiar with the basics of what the man was talking about. 

He was currently answering a question some posh prick had asked when Ezra decided it was time to shake things up. 

"Yeah, right that's _fascinating _ and all that, but you know what I think is interesting? How come you both have the same names as two blokes from the Franklin expedition?" 

He'd decided to really lean into the reincarnation schtick, since his last article had blown up on the internet. That, and from the looks on their faces, it'd gotten under their skin somewhat. 

The two men looked at each other, silently communicating as if they could read each other's thoughts. Finally, after a moment, they turned to face him again. 

"My name is Fitzgerald not--" 

"Pen name." Ezra interrupted. "An exceptionally bad one at that." 

Fitzjames narrowed his eyes. 

"Yeah, I've done my research," Ezra continued, leaning forward. "You've got the same birthday too, July 27, yeah?" 

Some of the students shifted in their seats to look at him, and others were muttering to each other. Ezra smiled. 

"What are you implying Mr...?" 

"Clarke." 

"Mr. Clarke." Fitzjames said. 

"I'm not implying anything, sir. Just stating facts." Ezra replied smoothly. 

"And interrupting the lecture." Crozier butted in. "You're not even enrolled in this class." 

Most of the students were staring at him now. There was a group of three near the front that were giving him particularly nasty stares. The rest looked a mixture of curious and mildly annoyed, which is what he'd been going for. They'd probably google him and read his story out of spite, but they'd still read it. 

Ezra held Crozier's gaze for a long moment. It felt like a very familiar song and dance, and that niggling feeling he'd been trying to shake off returned. 

The intensity of it made Ezra drop his gaze. He collected his notebook and gave a little bow as he exited the room. He felt extremely pissed off for some reason, like he'd lost an argument he didn't know he was having. He'd only intended to stir up a few more hits to his article, and maybe get some material for a follow-up, but he'd only succeeded in inserting himself further into the story itself. A bad place to be for a sensationalist writer. 

Best just to enjoy his 15 minutes of fame and move on. 

Ezra snorted. Yeah, right. 


	17. Seventeen

**ltlittle:** so. Bad news.

**theopenc:** the coffee shop on campus is out of soy milk again?? 😣😩

**ltlittle:** no.

**ltlittle:** we saw Hickey earlier today. It was definitely him who wrote that trash article.

_several people are typing_

John sighed heavily and put his phone down. He'd been having a nice, relaxing afternoon. The library was full, and he'd just finished up writing the grant he had been working on for weeks. Henry was supposed to stop by for a late lunch later, and one of his favorite regulars at the library had made cookies and passed them out to the staff.

It only figured then, that something would come up. His phone buzzed again, threatening to shake right off his desk. Quickly he snatched it up before it could go over.

**ladysilence: ** where

**thehartyboy:** where is he

**capncrozier:** do NOT touch him

**tombowline:** don't do anything rash

**thehartyboy:** John are u ok

**irving:** fine

**theopenc:** i thought u meant my John I was confused.

John smiled and typed a response.

**thelendinglibrary: **I'm at the library still.

**tombowline:**he doesn't appear to recognize us, so we should avoid him at all costs to keep it that way.

**ladysilence: ** but I really want to beat him up

**thehartyboy: **he deserves to have his arse kicked

**thehartyboy:**^^ exactly Silna 

John frowned. It would not serve them to resort to violence.

**thelendinglibrary: **shouldn't punish a man for crimes he doesn't remember. He might not have committed them if circumstances were different.

**jopson:** I guarantee you by his behavior he's still the same person. Capable of murder. He'd do it again in a heartbeat if it benefitted him.

**theopenc:** can't imagine it benefitting him now

**jopson:** fair point

**capncrozier:** can I be assured that no one will do anything stupid?

John stared at the screen for several moments longer, but no one replied. He sighed and made sure his first aid kit was well stocked.

Henry knocked on his door not a moment later, and John moved to embrace him tightly. He inhaled the clean linen scent of their laundry detergent, and nuzzled his cheek against Henry's. The other man giggled at the contact.

"Hello, John." he said, with his usual warmth. "It's been an exciting day."

"It's barely 2pm. Would have liked the excitement to have held off a bit longer." he replied, grabbing his satchel off his desk. Henry took his hand and they walked out of John's office into the main library and out the front doors.

"What are you thinking for lunch?" Henry asked, swinging their arms gently.

John wasn't particularly hungry-- the thoughts of Hickey's arrival, and the possible bad decisions that would follow, dogged his mind. "Whatever you're in the mood for Henry." He replied absently.

Henry stopped walking and turned to face him. The scowl on his face was nothing short of adorable.

"John. It's unlike you to be the worried one. Surely one mutinous asshole doesn't have you this worked up?"

John sighed. "I'm more worried about what the others will do. Tom Hartnell is a very level-headed boy usually, but when it comes to Irving he has very little self-control."

"Well, if something does happen, we'll deal with it." Henry shrugged. "We've been through much worse."

"You're right." John replied with a squeeze of his hand.

"Now, I was thinking soup of some nature...pho?"

\-----  
Thomas sunk into Edward's--and his too now he supposed--couch. It had been a long day, and Thomas just wanted to sit for a minute and relax. Edward slunk off to the bedroom as soon as he could, coming out shortly after in athleisure clothing. 

"I need to burn off some steam. I'm heading to the gym." He said gruffly as he grabbed his keys from the hook by the door.

"Yeah, go do what you need." Thomas encouraged. He got up from the couch and crossed the space to kiss Edward goodbye. "It'll be fine." He reassured him for the fifth time since leaving the college.

Edward sighed into Thomas's shoulder. "I want to believe that."

"Francis has it under control, I'm sure. He and James will come up with a plan, if it's needed. But it looks like he doesn't even have his memories proper. All we need to do is avoid him."

Edward nodded. "Yeah, it'll be fine." He gave Thomas a weak smile before heading out the door.

Two hours later, Edward returned with an unconscious Tom slumped against his shoulder.

"You complete _moron_, what were you thinking?" Thomas scolded as he helped Edward move Tom over to the couch.

"Wasn't." Edward replied gruffly.

They situated their friend on the couch, and after Thomas was reassured he was breathing, rounded on his boyfriend. "You are impossible." He said as he gripped Edward's face, turning it this way and that to inspect his injuries. There was already a bruise blooming around his right eye, and his lip was split. Thomas exhaled.

"Sorry. You're not a moron." he amended. "But what in God's name happened?"  
He quickly ducked into the bathroom for the first aid kit as Edward answered.

"He pulled out a knife."

"Of course he did." Thomas muttered. "What happened to avoiding him?" He asked as he knelt down next to Tom to clean the cut above his eye.

"He approached us! Asking all sorts of questions and being a general nuisance. We ignored him, kept walking. Thankfully it was just me and Tom, John wasn't there."

"And you found Tom at the gym, then?" Thomas asked offhandedly.

Edward ran a hand through his hair. "Er, not quite."

"You went out looking for Hickey, didn't you?" Thomas gritted out. He focused on Tom, cleaning out the cut and applying butterfly bandages.

"We wanted to keep an eye on him! Figure out what he knew." Edward explained. "But he spotted us and approached."

"Dammit Edward!" He said, finally looking up at him. He huffed. "I take it from the bruise on your face that there was skin contact?"

"That was Tozer, actually."

Thomas groaned.

\--------

John was shaking slightly as he stepped into the shower. He cranked the water as hot as it would go and let it pummel his skin until it turned red, desperate to chase away the cold that had seeped into his bones. When he saw Hickey sitting there, not ten feet away, the memories had surfaced and threatened to overwhelm him.

He rubbed his chest to reassure himself it was whole, that he hadn't been run through again. John stayed in the shower until the water ran cold again before getting out. His skin stung, and he idly wondered if it was possible to give yourself first degree burns that way.

After, he sat naked on his bed and cried until his eyes were as dry as his skin. Then he sat awhile longer. 

John was finally stirred from his stupor by his phone buzzing. He picked it up and was relieved to see Tom's smiling face looking back at him.

"Tom" he answered.

"Yes, but not the one you expected." Thomas replied. "Could you come over?"

"What's happened?" John asked, already jumping into a pair of trousers. "Is everyone okay?"

"For the most part." Thomas replied, and John could hear the exhaustion in his voice. "Tom's got a nasty cut above his eye, and Edward's eye is nearly swollen shut, but they're okay otherwise."

John wiggled his way into a jumper one handed, balancing the phone against his ear.

"Don't tell me, they went after Hickey?"

"Mhmm, and Tozer was with him. Woke each other up it seems." 

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll be right over."

\-----

When Tom woke it was dark. His head felt like it had been crushed between two bricks, and his knuckles were sore. Forming a thought was a Herculean task, and he barely remembered why he was in such a state.

He groaned and attempted to sit up. "Augh, nope." He whispered and lowered himself back down.

"Oh thank god you're awake." 

Tom slowly turned his head towards the voice. "John." He smiled dazedly. "Hey babe." 

John smiled softly at him. "Hello Tom. How are you feeling?"

"My head...hurts." 

"I suspect so." John answered as he leaned forward with a pen light in hand. He shone it in Tom's eyes.

"Nnnnnn" he whined. 

John looked satisfied at what he saw and put it away. "No concussion. Tom, what were you thinking, going after Hickey like that?"

"Hurt you. Couldn't let him hurt you again." He slurred. 

"Well, I can't have you getting hurt either." He murmured, wiping Tom's hair away from him forehead. "You're much too important."

"Mm, feels nice." Tom said, bumping his head into John's hand like a cat.

"Get some rest, Tom. You're clearly still a little out of it." John chuckled.

"Kay." 

He drifted off to the sound of John muttering nonsense words and the delightful sensation of John petting his hair.

He knew when he woke again he would have a splitting headache, and the cut on his forehead would probably scar, but he had no regrets.

\--------

**capncrozier: **What did I say?? I had a very clear plan.

**capncrozier: **please tell me you at least gave as good as you got

**ltlittle:** pretty sure I broke his nose.

**ladysilence:** great job. 👍 Tuunbaq says thanks too.

Henry couldn't help but laugh as he read the messages. "I guess you were right to worry, John." He said. "Can't imagine this will end smoothly."

"No." John replied, closing his book. "But like you said, we've been through worse."

Henry nodded. 

Everything would be fine.

He hoped.


	18. Eighteen

Sometimes (most times), Solomon hated his job. He wasn't good at de-escalating situations, which is what was called for here. Three men stood in the middle of the quad, one of them hurling insults at the others and generally being a nuisance. The other two seemed to have been following him though, so Solomon wasn't sure who was originally the aggressor. 

"Hey," he hollered as he approached. "Let's move along, no need to make a scene. Take it somewhere else."

The youngest of the bunch, a freckled blonde man, backed off immediately, but his companion fixed Sol with a glare that was full of more vitrol than he expected.

"Do we have a problem?" Sol asked.

The other man bristled. "Not that you remember." 

Sol was trying to parse together what exactly that meant when the third man sauntered up to him. Sol couldn't help but think of a fox as he watched the slender redheaded man slink over.

"Terribly sorry, sir, we were just having a friendly discussion. Got a bit heated, y'know? We'll just be on our way." He said smoothly.

Solomon grunted. "Good call."

The darker haired man spoke up then. "We're not finished here, Hickey." he snarled.

"Mate, like I said, I dunno who the fuck this Hickey person is, but you’d best back off." The redhead spat back. He moved his hand into his pocket.

Sol eyed the thin man warily. "Whatever business you have, take it off campus." He reiterated.

The man smiled at him, but it wasn't what Sol would call friendly. Rather, it reminded him of how a cat smiled at a bird before eating it.

"Have a nice day, officer," he said, as he turned to leave.

"You're not leaving." The dark haired man growled and reached after him. His companion quickly stepped in front of him.

"Edward--"

There was a flash of silver as the redhead pulled out a knife. There was the sickening sound of slicing flesh and the younger man stumbled back.

Solomon reacted on instinct and threw a punch at the assailant. The slippery bastard ducked however, and his fist connected with the dark haired man's face instead.

As soon as Solomon's fist made contact with his face, he knew he'd made a mistake. All the air rushed out of his lungs as images poured into his head.

_"No, you're crushing him, you're crushing him!"_

_"The time is now."_

_"Proving only that every man...lies."_

_"He was going to leave you with a big losing hand, Edward. That is your name, Edward?"_

_"Well you finally sound afraid Solomon."_

_"Do you believe a man has a soul?"_

_"This does mean a change of plan."_

_"Tommy, give me your gun, I'm the best shot here!"_

_"Captain." _

Solomon stumbled on the follow through to his punch and staggered into who he now recognized as Hickey. He was standing in front of Tom Hartnell, brandishing the knife. 

Of fucking course he was.

"What the hell was that?" Hickey said. Solomon noticed there was blood on his face. The source was obvious. Tom Hartnell was holding a hand to his own face in an attempt to stem the blood streaming out of a cut on his forehead.

Hickey lunged for Hartnell again and Solomon grabbed him by the waist and hauled him back, but it was too late. Hickey managed to kick out and make solid contact with Hartnell's middle, doubling him over, then slammed his boot into the back of his skull. He crumpled like a paper doll.

Little lunged for the both of them then, and Solomon let go of Hickey. Little's fist collided with Hickey's face and there was a satisfying crunch.

Hickey squealed like the rat he was. Little had landed a solid punch, and seemed to have busted Hickey's nose. He turned tail and ran, crossing the street before Sol could grab him.

"You fucking coward!" Little shouted after him. His hands were still balled into fists and his chest heaved with every breath. 

"Shit." Solomon managed to say.

Little ignored him in favor of Hartnell, who was still out cold on the ground. He shook his shoulder. "Tom, hey. Tom." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

"He's fine," Solomon said as he got closer. "Looks to just be unconscious." 

Little snapped his head up to look at him. "Last time he was laying on the ground like this, he'd been shot dead by your mutinous friends, so if you think I'm not going to check to see if he's okay--"

"Christ, okay." Sol held his hands up in surrender.

Little looked back to Hartnell and scooped him up into his arms bridal style. His head lolled back into Little's shoulder, staining his shirt red. He began to walk away without another word.

"Hey," Sol said, "where are you going? Are you just going to leave? What the hell is happening?"

"Why don't you go chase after your fearless leader and find out." he replied over his shoulder.

Sol ran to catch up. "What? Go to Hickey? Fuck that. Man's insane. He got us all killed."

"So I've been told. It's what you deserved." He sneered. "Look, just leave us alone, alright? Tell Hickey if he comes to another of Crozier's classes, I'll finish what I started."

Solomon stopped in his tracks. Right. The professor on campus was also his captain in another life. He shook his head and jogged back up to Little. 

"Will you please slow down a moment?" He asked desperately, grabbing at Little's arm.

Little sighed. "I'm sure you are very confused and have a lot of questions. Frankly, I could care less. I need to take care of Tom right now. He might have a concussion. But-" he paused to adjust Hartnell in his arms. "if you aren't going to throw your lot in with Hickey again, Crozier might, _might_ help you." 

"He says he forgave you." Little added softly. "But I'm not sure I'm willing to."

Solomon nodded. "That's fair. I appreciate the honesty at least. Thanks, I'll talk to Crozier."

Little nodded and set off again, Hartnell still hanging limp in his arms.

Solomon stared after them for several moments before collecting himself and heading to the history building.


	19. Nineteen

When Solomon Tozer showed up at Francis's door with bloody knuckles, he sighed and gestured for him to sit.

"Hold on just a moment," he said before Tozer could open his mouth. He pulled out his phone.

**capncrozier: **what did I say?? I had a very clear plan

**capncrozier:** please tell me you at least gave as good as you got.

**ltlittle:** pretty sure I broke his nose

Francis looked at Tozer, whose nose was perfectly intact, which could only mean Edward broke Hickey's nose. He sighed again and put away his phone. 

"Where is Mr. Hickey then?" He asked without preamble. He wasn't going to waste time with pleasantries when he wasn't sure where they stood.

Much to his shock and extreme discomfort, Tozer's reaction was not to sneer or jibe like he expected. Instead, the other man was crying. 

"Christ." Francis muttered under his breath and he scrounged in his desk for a tissue.

Thankfully Tozer wasn't a blubbering mess, his tears were mostly silent, save for a few hitches in his breath. He was staring down at his feet, and Crozier had to wave the tissue dramatically to catch his eye.

"Thank you sir." He mumbled, snatching it from his hand without looking.

"It's fine." Francis replied. 

Neither of them spoke for a long awkward moment.

Finally, Francis cleared his throat.

"I take it you're not throwing in your hat with Hickey again?"

Tozer did snort then. "Being eaten by a giant polar bear tends to change one's perspective, sir. Hickey was out of his mind, I'll not follow him anywhere again."

"Good." Francis said. "Then welcome back."

Tozer stared at him in shock.

"I forgave you men a long time ago." Francis said calmly. "You were starving and suffering from lead poisoning. Not easy to make good decisions when your body is dying."

"Thank you." He said quietly. 

"Now the others may not be as kind about things, especially not at first."

"Oh I know." Tozer grumbled. "Little was fuming. I was actually surprised to see an emotion from him that wasn't morose."

Francis couldn't help but smile. "He's a bit more spirited than he was before." 

Tozer shifted in his seat. "How, um, how many of us are there?"

Francis had to pause and do some quick math in his head. The number had really exploded lately, and it surprised him when he counted them all up.

"Fourteen all together. Well, fifteen, if you count Tuunbaq." 

Tozer gave him a puzzled look. 

"The creature."

His puzzled look quickly transformed into terror.

"It's under Silna's control now." Francis explained. "I'll admit we're not exactly sure what he wants, but he's not an immediate threat."

Tozer relaxed slightly, but Francis could tell he was still wound up, ready to act at a moment's notice. Once a marine always a marine it seemed.

"Look, we can go over everything later. It's best not to overtax yourself at first. There have been...problems with some of the others knowing too much too fast." 

Tozer nodded. "My mind's felt fuzzy, and on my way over here, my phone went off and I had to look at it for a minute before I remembered what it was."

"It helps to go over what you've been doing in this life, to remind yourself of what is the present and what is the past. Tell me about yourself now." Francis suggested. 

"You want to know about me?" Tozer asked incredulously.

Francis smiled. "You're one of my men, aren't you?"

Francis was kind enough to look away as Tozer wiped his cheeks again.

"Well, I just finished my tour with the Royal Marines." He said after a lengthy pause. "Not much changed there."

Francis tilted his head in thought. "I'm sure they pay better."

Tozer laughed. "Not very much more, no. But at least I'm not in danger of being eaten again." He looked away from Francis and began to fiddle with the sleeve of his coat.

"That was my last tour. I uh, got injured and they won't let me back in. Said if I can't fully rotate my shoulder, can't serve. Got nothing else to do now." Tozer said. "Just been trying to keep busy working."

Francis saw and recognized the unspoken sense of worthlessness he was struggling with. He'd felt it himself plenty of times.

"That will only work for so long before you burn yourself out." He said.

"Well what else am I supposed to do?" Tozer snapped.

"Go out with friends, take a class on campus, join a local football club, I dunno. Just don't cut yourself off from living. Trust me." Francis replied, with as somber of a look as he could muster.

"All my friends, all of em', are either dead, or still serving." 

"Well, maybe not all of them." Francis argued. "More and more of us keeping crawling out of the woodwork. Not seen another Marine yet, but they could be out there."

He watched as Tozer actively tried to quash any hope from appearing on his face.

"Stop by the bar sometime, Blanky's. You can guess who owns it. We've been searching for others, you could help us." 

Francis wrote down the address on a sticky note and passed it to him. He highly doubted he would take him up on the offer, especially considering the cold greeting Edward had given him, but he felt compelled to offer.

"I'll think about it." Tozer said. He actually looked like he would.

He stood up then. "I should go, I'm technically still on the job."

"You feeling alright? You know where and when you are then?" Francis asked. 

"I think so." He shrugged. "I'll muddle through it."

Francis offered his hand and Tozer took it, shaking firmly.

"Sir." He said, before departing.

Francis hoped he'd see his most wayward son again.


	20. Twenty

Here's your prescription Mr. Collins. Have a nice day." 

"Thank you," Henry said, taking the bag from the pharmacist. He peeked inside to check that everything was there. Two pill bottles rattled back at him. He tucked the bag into his pocket and left the tiny chemists shop as quickly as possible. It made him feel claustrophobic with its many shelves and low ceiling. It was a relief to step into the chilly London air.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his fingertips brushing the pharmacy bag again. Henry was particularly keen on the idea of taking antidepressants and a sleeping aid, but his psychiatrist had encouraged him to try.

His dreams had been getting worse and worse, to the point where he was seeing flashes during his waking hours. He'd dealt with them since childhood, but something had changed, making them more vibrant, more real.

It terrified him enough to try anything. So he'd relented, and filled the prescriptions.

_"Are you ill?"_

_"I've been in a bad way, yes."_

Henry shook the vision from his mind. Stepping into the chemists had triggered some fragments of dreams. The feeling of despair began creeping up on him again.

"Sod it." He muttered, and with fumbling hands, grabbed the pill bottle on top and opened it. 

Not bothering to check if it was the antidepressant or the sleeping pill was probably a mistake, but he was desperate for some relief. He swallowed the pill dry, coughing a few times when it stuck to his throat.

He made it three blocks before the sleeping pill kicked in fully, and he crumpled to the ground.

\--------

"My goodness, please, stop pulling so hard!" Harry begged the giant dog he was walking.

Silna laughed. It had been a great idea to let Harry hold the leash for this morning's walk. Tuunbaq was particularly spirited this morning. He had demanded a walk first thing, leaping onto the bed and howling in their ears. Silna knew better than to ignore the creature when he was in such a state, and immediately got dressed to go outside.

He had a scent, and it was important to let him follow it. Tuunbaq was walking them this morning.

Harry stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall. Silna rushed to his side, deftly taking the lead from him. She tugged hard on Tuunbaq and he stopped in his tracks.

"Sorry, Harry!" Silna gasped between giggles. "Are you alright?"

Harry looked at her with a defeated expression. "I had it, you know."

Silna pat's his arm. "No, you didn't."

He smiled sheepishly. "No, I didn't." 

Tuunbaq whined and strained against the lead. Even Silna was struggling to hold on.

"Alright, alright, we're going." She said.

It was a few blocks later that they saw the reason for the spirit's urgency. There was a man lying facedown on the sidewalk, seemingly unconscious. Silna watched as Harry seamlessly transitioned from Harry to Dr. Goodsir, rushing to the man's side.

"Silna call 999." He said calmly as he inspected his new patient. He reached down and gently moved the man's collar to check his pulse. "He's alive." He said with relief.

The man was large, at least a few inches taller than Harry, and twice as broad, with dark curly hair. When Harry brushed his hair back to get a better look at his face, he gasped.

"Mr. Collins. Silna, it's Mr. Collins!" He said excitedly.

Silna, who was in the process of dialing emergency services, almost dropped her phone when she was accosted with a set of extremely disturbing images of the man in front of her being ripped open and devoured. She grimaced.

"Thanks for sharing." She snipped.

Tuunbaq growled.

She turned her attention back to Harry. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I'm not sure."

Silna finished dialing 999 and gave them their location. Harry was methodically checking Collins over as best he could.

"No broken bones I can discern, but I still don't dare flip him over until help arrives." He said. Harry patted down his sides. "Oh?"

He pulled out a bag from the nearby pharmacy. "Ah," he said, but didn't elaborate.

"What?" Silna asked. She couldn't see exactly what he was holding from a distance, but she didn't want to bring Tuunbaq any closer.

"It seems Mr. Collins took the wrong medication, hopefully on accident. These sleeping pills are quite strong. He wouldn't have had time to make it home." Harry explained. "Oh Henry." He whispered gently, pushing his curls off his forehead again.

Silna watched this interaction with curiosity. Harry was looking at Collins with more tenderness and care than he gave his normal patients. She wondered if they were close, before. Silna made a mental note to ask him about him later.

The ambulance arrived, and Harry stepped aside to allow the paramedics to work, telling them all the pertinent information he had. 

"If he's taken this as I suspected, he won't be waking anytime soon, but shouldn't be in any immediate danger." He was telling the paramedics, who nodded.

"Thank you," Harry said as they loaded Collins on a stretcher.

"Do you need to follow us?" The paramedic asked.

"Oh, oh no. We were simply in the area. We aren't acquainted I'm afraid." He replied.

As the ambulance pulled away, Silna turned to Harry. "Why did you say that you didn't know him?"

"Well, technically I don't." Harry shrugged.

Silna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, but you touched him. He's going to wake up and know the truth."

"Yes."

"So wouldn't you want to be there? To help him, to speak with him? You look like you were close." Silna pressed.

"We were." He sighed. "But--the choice should be his, should it not? Whether he wishes to seek us out. I'm not going to add stress to his situation by being there."

Silna squinted at him. "If you say so." 

Tuunbaq whined.

\-----------  
_"Maybe it would help, to say it out loud."_

_"I've tried, sir."_

_"Well, you haven't tried with me."_

Henry woke with tears in his eyes, the memory lingering. And he knew now, that they were memories. He choked back a sob and took a moment to breathe before looking around. 

He was clearly in a hospital, a familiar sight to him. Henry could feel the tell-tale tug and itch of an IV line in his left hand. He felt so incredibly foolish, he should have known better than to take new medications without first being safely tucked up at home. How humiliating.

He wasn't sure what to do next. Leave the hospital, surely, but then what? Go back to his flat, make dinner for one like he always did and go to bed?

No, everything was different now. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a cry and a laugh. Oh, his therapist would have a heyday with this if he told her. Which he certainly was not. He'd been admitted before and was not keen on the idea of going back.

He pressed the nurse call button somewhat frantically. The longer he was here, the worse off he'd be. He needed to get home. He wasn't sure what he would do when he got there, but he rarely knew what he was doing anyhow.

After arguing with the nurses and filling out a large stack of discharge papers, Henry was free to go.

He called a cab and gave the driver the address of the chemists.

"You sure? They're closed this time of night."

"Just take me there, please." He asked with some desperation.

"Alright, suit yourself." The driver shrugged.

Henry wasn't exactly sure what his plan was, other than to retrace his steps. Something had happened on that walk to awaken his memories. It wasn't the pills, he was certain. He wasn't sure how he was certain, but he was.

It was dark now, and colder. He retraced his steps as best he could, but nothing stood out to him. Disappointed, he continued on towards his flat.

He walked for several more blocks, the businesses giving way to small houses. Henry usually enjoyed this leg of his walk. The houses were very quaint, with nice gardens in the summertime. Everything was dead now of course, and it saddened Henry to see the dormant flowerbeds.

Further along, there was an older house that had been retrofitted as an apartment complex. It had a larger yard than most, as it was on the intersection of the street. Henry wasn't fond of walking by this house. There was a large white dog that gave him uncomfortable flashbacks to his dreams.

Memories.

Henry shuddered as he remembered the sensation of being torn open, dulled as it was by the coca wine. He supposed that's what he deserved, leading the creature back to camp the way he did. It was only fair that he fell to it.

The dog in question was of course, out in the yard, and began howling and barking up a storm as he approached. This further unsettled Henry, as typically it paid him no mind. The noises it made thankfully alerted its owners. 

Henry saw a light flick on as he approached. He hoped that the owner would bring the dog inside before he reached the fence.

"Tuunbaq, please! Be quiet." A man's voice begged. "You'll wake the neighbors."

The dog stopped barking. The man stepped into the courtyard and grabbed the dog by the collar to lead him inside. That's when Henry recognized him.

"Dr. Goodsir?"

The man looked up, startled.

"Mr. Collins…oh, Silna was right," he mumbled to himself. "Mr. Collins, hello. I'm," he gestured to the dog. "Please, give me a moment. Don't--don't go."

He disappeared into the house. Henry stayed. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to. The sight of Dr. Goodsir in front of him sent him spiraling deep into his memories again.

He was back on Erebus, in sickbay after his dive to fix the propeller. Dr. Stanley had just finished checking his vitals and deemed him in perfect health. Dr. Goodsir, however, had lingered after Stanley left.

_"Are you quite alright Mr. Collins? You seem shaken."_

_"I'm fine."_

_"I don't think so."_ He said, gently taking his hand and holding it level with Henry's eyes._ "See? You're literally shaking. Let me give you a tonic to help you sleep."_

The memory faded, bringing him back to the present. That wasn't the last time Goodsir had helped him, and Henry sought him out many times throughout their voyage. He always felt lighter after speaking with him. Henry credited his kindness as one of the few things that kept Henry going for as long as he did.

Goodsir came back, sans dog, and greeted him warmly, but with a hint of caution, like he was afraid Henry would spook and run.

Henry wasn't sure he was wrong.

"Mr. Collins, please, come inside. If--if you like. I'm sure you must be very confused. I've got the, er, dog in his crate. He shouldn't bother you."

Henry's internal debate lasted only a few moments before he stepped through the tiny gate and followed Goodsir inside.

His house was small, quaint, and filled with plants. Almost every surface, save the kitchen counters, was covered. Henry was led through the kitchen into a small sitting room, where Goodsir gestured him to sit.

"Make yourself comfortable, please." 

Upon sitting, Henry realized the room felt small because one entire wall was taken up by aquariums and terrariums of various sizes.

Goodsir smiled when he caught him looking. "Ah, yes, I'm still very much a naturalist at heart, even before I regained my memories." He paused. " That is why you are here, I assume?"

Henry nodded slowly like his head was full of cotton. "I don't really know what's going on, to be honest, Dr. Goodsir."

"Please, call me Harry."

"And you can call me Henry."

Harry smiled widely. "Wonderful."

He sat across from Henry, and leaned in, elbows to knees. "Are you doing alright Henry? I'm terribly sorry I didn't stay with you after we found you--"

"You found me?" Henry asked.

"Yes. On the sidewalk. We called for an ambulance. Silna wanted me to go with you but I--I didn't want to frighten you." Harry admitted.

"It was scarier waking up alone," Henry said.

He wanted to take it back immediately upon seeing the look on Harry's face. 

"I'm sorry, Henry. I suppose I was the frightened one." He said meekly.

Henry wasn't sure what to say, no one had apologized to him before, so he shrugged and changed the subject.

"Who's Silna?" He asked. 

"Hmm? Oh! Oh, you would know her as Lady Silence. She's here, actually. We uh, we live together now." Harry blushed slightly, and Henry tried not to enjoy the way it colored his face.

"I never spoke to her before," Henry admitted.

Harry smiled. "Most of the others hadn't either, but we're taking advantage of this second chance. She and Tom Hartnell have become good friends, actually."

"Others?" Henry asked.

"Oh, I'm not very good at this." Harry sighed. "Why don't I just start over. A few weeks ago I was working at my clinic…"

Henry listened intently as Harry caught him up to speed. A few times he had to ask him to clarify or slow down and start again. It was a lot to take in.

"And this has all happened in the last few weeks?" 

Harry laughed. "Yes, it's been quite a whirlwind. We're not even sure how this happened, though we're certain Tuunbaq is a large part of it."

"Ah." Henry turned around to eye the dog kennel in the next room. "You mentioned Silna talks to him?"

Harry shrugged. "More or less. She says it's more of a feeling. Imagine! How strange that must be." He said with enthusiasm.

Henry's stomach rolled.

Harry sensed his change in mood and moved to sit next to him. "I'm sorry," he said, grabbing Henry's hand. That was insensitive of me. I've had some time now to get used to him. And I wasn't…"

"Eaten by him?" 

Harry winced. "I'm so terribly sorry, Henry."

"It was my fault, anyway," Henry said quietly. "If I hadn't led it to the camp, maybe things would have ended differently."

Harry was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps. But they still would have ended. There was no hope of rescue, I'm afraid. And, knowing what I do now, even if we had made it back to England, the damage from the lead ..." He trailed off sadly.

"We were dead already." Henry finished.

Harry squeezed his hand hard. "I'm afraid so."

Henry let out a shudder.

"There’ve been several discoveries over the years," Harry mentioned after a beat. "Regarding our expedition. If you want, I can help you look into it. It may give you some closure."

"I'll...think about it," Henry said finally. 

Harry gave his hand one final squeeze, then let go. 

"Alright." 

He fidgeted for a moment, clearly mulling over something in his mind.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" He managed to say.

Henry was glad for the change in topic and grabbed at it like a man drowning.

"I'd like that."  
\--------------

Silna tried not to listen in on Harry's conversation, but it was difficult to avoid temptation. Firstly, because she didn't like not knowing things, and secondly, she was curious about the newcomer.

She remembered his face from before of course. Saw him on Erebus plenty of times in the month she stayed with them, and once they started walking, his large figure stood out amongst the men.

But she didn't know him.

Harry certainly seemed to, and that intrigued her as well. He seemed shy, almost cagey when she asked about him. It struck her as odd that Harry hadn't accompanied him to the hospital. 

So Silna sat in their small bedroom and listened. She listened to Harry's voice. Not what it was saying, but what it wasn't. The little inflections that gave away whether he was tired, or scared, or embarrassed.

He kept a steady tone for most of the conversation, soft and soothing. Silna couldn't help but smile at his excitement when he described her bond with Tuunbaq.

As the conversation drew to its end, Silna picked up on the notes she'd been waiting for.

Longing. A deep sadness at their shared pain, and the unmistakable warm hint of love when he invited Henry to dine with them.

Silna smiled.  
\---------------  
Harry sighed in relief when Henry accepted his dinner invitation. This feeling quickly turned to panic when he realized they had very little food in the house.

"I ordered pizza ten minutes ago," Silna said, stepping out of their bedroom. "One cheese, one supreme, and a pepperoni. Covers the bases."

Harry loved her so much.

"Hi." She continued. "I'm Silna."

Henry took her outstretched hand timidly. "H-hello."

"I would say Harry's told me all about you, but that would be a lie," Silna said, looking pointedly at Harry.

Harry tried not to squirm. "Well, I wasn't sure if he would appear. I know many men from then that I haven't mentioned." He deflected.

Silna gave him one last searching look before dropping the subject. She didn't hesitate to take the spot next to Henry on the couch.

"I wanted to ask before I sent a message. Is it alright if I tell the group chat you're awake?" She asked gently.

It took Henry a moment to parse together what she was saying, but he nodded. Silna smiled and began typing out a message. Harry felt his phone buzz but left it in his pocket. 

Silna smiled and showed her phone to Henry. "Someone's excited."

"That's a lot of emojis," Henry said, peering at the message. Then suddenly his face went slack and his gaze seemed far off.

"Henry?" Harry prompted gently. He recognized that face. The group had collectively began to refer to it as 'jetlag'.

Silna shook Henry's knee and he started to come back around. 

"I'm sorry I-- for a moment--" Henry stuttered.

Harry leaned closer. "It's happened to all of us. Just the other morning I forgot what a toaster was. It's not an easy thing to deal with, having two time periods bouncing around in your head."

Henry closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "How do you manage?"

"We help each other," Silna replied, her hand still resting on his knee.

Harry very deliberately ignored the way his heart quickened at the sight. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers.

The doorbell rang, and Harry leapt at the chance to get some air. He scurried out of the room to grab the pizza and collect himself.

He had hoped seeing Henry again would not stir anything in him, that now that he was with Silna, his little crush would evaporate.

He was mortified to discover that was not the case. Harry thanked the delivery person absentmindedly, and he assumed by the look on the man's face he appeared as frazzled as his thoughts.

He stood there, staring at the pizzas. His favorite was supreme. It had a little of everything Harry liked. Mushrooms, green peppers, and sausage. He also enjoyed the simplicity of cheese. His enjoyment of one did not take away his enjoyment of the other.

"Harry?"

He was saved from thinking more about his terrible metaphor by Silna's sweet voice.

"Do you want to maybe share the pizza?" She asked, smirking.

"Yes! Sorry." He said and began walking to the kitchen. "I'll ah, just get some plates yes?"

Harry kept quiet throughout dinner, his nerves getting the better of him. That, and Silna and Henry seemed to be getting on well, and he dare not interrupt.

Henry was chuckling at something Silna said, and she smiled back at him. Harry felt warm and content listening to them chat.

He took a slice of cheese pizza and a slice of supreme and folded them together to take a bite.

It was delicious.


	21. Chapter 21

It was finally Thomas's favorite part of his workday.

Lunch.

He'd almost gone crazy today answering phones. Customer service was his strong suit, but even he had limits. He could only handle being yelled at for things outside his control so many times before snapping.

Thomas pulled out his lunch, (a meticulously neat tuna salad sandwich, potato crisps, and a chocolate bar)and opened his phone, eager to check his messages.

Silna had texted last night to let them know Mr. Collins had joined them. Thomas hoped he was adjusting alright. He had seemed the nervous type before.

**ladysilence:** look who I convinced to join the gc!

**paddington: **uh, hello

Thomas smiled at his phone and typed out a reply.

**jopson:** welcome back mr. collins

**ltlittle:** glad to see you.

**theopenc:** 🙋♂️👋

**theopenc:** john says hello too! He's cooking rn tho ❤

**theopenc: **he's so handsome in his apron 😍

**thehartyboy: **get a room LOL

**paddington:** Silna and Harry have been getting me caught up to speed over the weekend.

**paddington: **it's...a lot. But I'm glad to be here.

Thomas had begun to type out a reply but was interrupted by his phone ringing. He looked at the caller ID and sighed. He had been expecting this call and was surprised it hadn't happened earlier.

"Hello," he answered.

"So when were you going to tell me you're the reincarnated soul of a long-dead sailor?" his sister joked from the other end.

"You really need to stop reading that garbage," he replied automatically, even though a small part of him was tempted to tell her the truth.

"So you keep telling me, but then I'd miss all the hot gossip about my big brother." she teased.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Was there a point to this call, Lex?" he asked.

"To bother you," she replied. 

"Are you sure it's not because you miss me?" 

"Disgusting. Absolutely not." she paused. "Though mum's been wondering when you're coming to visit next."

"Uh-huh," Thomas said.

He really had been meaning to visit. It had been a little over a month, and that was almost sad, considering they lived in the same city. But life had been extremely chaotic, and he was still wrangling with emotional fallout from the revelations of the past month. It was easier to mourn his former family without being reminded of his present one.

"Hello? Thomas?"

"Hm, oh sorry. I got distracted." he apologized.

Thomas could practically hear Lex's eyebrow crook. "It's fine. Hey, are–are you doing okay?"

"I'm alright." he sighed. 

"I don't believe you." A dangerous pause.

"You don't work weekends right?" she asked.

"No." he replied warily.

"Great! I'm taking the tube down tomorrow then." Lex said.

Thomas sputtered. "That's very nice but you can't."

Lex scoffed. "And why not?"

Thomas wasn't sure what to say to that. There wasn't a real reason she couldn't come down to visit–other than the fact that he hadn't told his family he'd moved in with Edward. He wasn't afraid of them having a negative reaction–he'd been out for years–but he'd never had a relationship progress to 'meeting the family' status. It was a little frightening.

"I've moved," he said after a small internal debate.

"Then give me your new address." 

Thomas gave his address with some trepidation. He paused, trying to decide how to word his next sentence.

"Just–call before you get here okay? I don't live alone," he said finally.

"Oh?" Lex replied salaciously. "Are you telling me you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes." he gritted out. "Please, Alexis, I'm begging you. Behave. He's a very quiet person."

She laughed. "Afraid I'll scare him off?"

Thomas couldn't help but smile. "I doubt it. I think I'm stuck with him, "he said fondly.

"Oh, you really like him," Lex said, almost surprised. "I didn't think anyone would ever meet your standards, to be honest."

"Shut up." Thomas shot back, lacking a more clever response. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Will he be there?"

"That's up to him," Thomas said. "It's pretty last minute and he might have plans."

This was a lie. Edward never made plans.

"Fine," she replied, sounding put out. "See you tomorrow."

She hung up abruptly, and if it had been anyone else, Thomas may have been offended, but that was just how their relationship had always been. He huffed, a tiny grin forming on his face.

The workday seemed less stressful after that.  
\---------

Edward came home to a quiet house. Not unusual in itself, but paired with the fact that no lights were on, Thomas's car was nowhere to be seen, and the door was slightly ajar, it was alarming.

He cautiously pushed the door open the rest of the way, calling out for Thomas as he did.

No reply.

He steeled his nerves and moved into the entryway.

"Thomas?" he called out again.

He hears only silence.

Edward flicked on the light switch, illuminating the living room. It was empty. He moved into the kitchenette. Also vacant. Next, he checked the bedroom and bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when those too were unoccupied.

He dialed Thomas's number while doing a second sweep of the flat to see if anything was missing. Everything seemed to be in its place. Edward wasn't sure if that was reassuring or concerning.

Thomas picked up on the second ring.

"Hello there. Couldn't wait the fifteen minutes till I get home?" he smirked.

"I think someone broke into our flat," Edward said without preamble. 

"What? Are you okay? Did you call the police?" 

Edward put up his hand in a placating manner, even though Thomas couldn't see it.

"I'm fine. Haven't called the police yet. Nothing actually seems to be missing." he explained.

"That's ...disturbing." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Edward sighed and rubbed his eyes, wincing when his fingers glanced the still tender bruising there.

"I'll be home in five minutes," Thomas said.

"See you soon." 

Edward hung up and spent those five minutes pacing back and forth. When Thomas appeared in his line of sight, he immediately rushed to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Shaken," he admitted. "Who breaks into a person's home and steals nothing?"

"Someone who's motive isn't greed," Thomas replied.

Edward frowned as a realization hit him. "Someone could have been looking to scare us, or try to dig up information."

"Someone like Hickey you mean," Thomas said. "I will admit, that was my first thought. Who knows what he's thinking, now that he has his memories."

"Christ, what have I done?" Edward buried his face in his hands.

Thomas gently pulled his hands away and held them. "You're best. Tom would've gone anyway, so I'm glad you went with him. Hickey could have woken up half a dozen ways. Don't blame yourself."

"That's my specialty," Edward replied.

Thomas kissed his hands. 

"I know."

\---------

Ezra clutched his notepad tightly as he hurried away from the flats. He'd not had time to completely erase his presence there and cursed Little for returning sooner than he'd expected. Hopefully, he wouldn't put two and two together.

Once he reached the relative safety and anonymity of the subway, he opened his notebook. He'd taken only the smallest things that wouldn't be missed. An old grocery list in Little's childish scrawl and a post-it note Jopson had written to Little to remind him to rotate the dishwasher. 

Put them away when you're done–it's not a storage cabinet.

I love you.

Ezra rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to crumple up the note in disgust. There was a reason he had taken it. If his plan was going to work, he needed solid evidence of the truth. Handwriting analysis wasn't an exact science, but it could help fan the flames of interest, and provide further proof to the world that they were reincarnated souls.

Problem was, looking at the samples he collected compared to the historical signatures he'd managed to find, they looked similar, but not identical. Ezra supposed this was to do with the difference between a pen and a fountain pen. That, and Little hadn't been forced to write with his non-dominant hand this time around.

Still, it was a start. He knew exposing their secret would take time, especially when he needed to do it in a way that when the truth did come out, he came out on top. But playing the long game was a specialty of his, and he could be patient.

He crossed Little and Jopson off his list and waited for his next stop.  
\---------

Francis frowned at his phone.

**jopson:** our flat was broken into. Nothing missing. We're thinking it might be a rat infestation. Be careful everyone.

**theopenc: **🐀s broke into your house??

**thehartyboy:** ……...henry

**theopenc: **ohhh I got it. Sorry. Pulled an all-nighter last night. Not with it.

**johnirving:** clearly

He typed out a carefully worded reply, making sure to reassure them. It was possible it had just been a random act, but Francis agreed with Thomas. It was highly unlikely.

**capncrozier: **we will handle this together. For now, just be cautious.

He sighed and pushed his phone away, laying his head on his kitchen table with a groan.

James, busy cooking dinner, and therefore not looking at his phone, paused at the noise. "Francis?"

He looked up bleakly. "Suspected Hickey fuckery," he explained. "Edward and Thomas's flat was broken into. They're alright."

James sighed in relief. "And what makes them think it was Hickey?" he asked as he turned back to the stove.

"Nothing was taken. Or moved." 

"Odd for a home invasion." James hummed. "Yes, it would make sense that he would come looking for us now, though his exact motives I can only guess at."

Francis laid his head back down and mumbled into the table. He heard James's breathy chuckle, followed by his footsteps. He felt his warm hands on his neck a moment later, where they then began kneading the taut muscles. 

"What did you say Francis?" he prompted gently.

"I said so much for our first date," Francis replied quietly.

James laughed, loudly this time. "I can come cook you dinner again. In fact, I'd already planned on it. If this time the mood has been soured, we will simply have to try again."

"I'm still shocked you're here for the first time," Francis said. "I'd thought surely you would tire of me, having only fancied me back then because we were dying."

"Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, don't you dare insult me so," James said sternly.

He crossed to the other side of the table to face him, leaning on his hands. "I admired you from the beginning, held great disdain for you in the middle, but I loved you until the end. and, since the end has a continuation...well." he gestured vaguely.

James leaned forward and captured Francis in a kiss. Francis hummed against his lips and tried to pull him closer, but James ducked out playfully.

"If we start that the bechamel sauce will scald." he chastised, heading back to the stove. Francis heard him vigorously whisking the sauce.

"Besides," James continued after a moment. "the dating is really just a formality at this point. I'm afraid you've already become a permanent fixture in my life."

Francis knew it was silly, but he was relieved to hear the sentiment voiced aloud. He relaxed in his chair. "Yes, well, it would still be nice to have an uninterrupted evening." he groused.

"That it would." James agreed. "Perhaps after we've found a way to deal with Mr. Hickey."

Francis sighed heavily. "You don't happen to have any ideas about that do you?"

"Not a one."

Francis's head met the table once more.

‐‐--------

"What do you mean I can't come down?" Lex whined into the phone.

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not safe. Our flat was broken into," he explained, opting for the truth, or part of it.

"Are you okay?" she asked in alarm.

"We're fine. Look, don't go telling mother. She'll worry needlessly."

"You and I have different definitions of 'needlessly.'"

Alexis, please." Thomas begged.

There was silence on the other line. Edward gave him a sympathetic glance.

"Only if you let me visit."

Thomas resisted the urge to throw his phone across the flat.

"Give me until next weekend." Thomas compromised. "Things should be settled by then."

Lex was quiet again, solely to make Thomas uneasy, he assumed. He waited for her response with bated breath. There was nothing he could do to stop her from coming, and he couldn't properly warn her of the danger without exposing their secret. He had to hope that she would listen to him just this once.

"Okay."

Thomas let out the breath he had been holding. "Thank you."

"Yeah, whatever," she replied. "I don't see what the big deal is. Not like your part of London is more dangerous than mine."

"I'll see you next weekend," he said, ignoring her comment. 

"Bye loser."

"Bye Lex."

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Edward pressed a kiss to his forehead as he crossed to the kitchen to refill his glass.

"She sounds fun," he said cheerily.

"Oh, she is. She's also impossible." 

Edward chuckled. "She's seventeen, of course she is. I remember what it's like."

"Your sisters never had access to TikTok and Snapchat," Thomas muttered.

"Fair point," he said before a faraway look crossed his face. 

"I wonder if they'd have enjoyed it. Charlotte would have, I'm sure. Margaret would have found it pretentious and vain, but used it in secret." he chuckled, but there was a note of sadness. "I wasn't terribly close with my eldest sisters, and Louisa was so much younger than I, we didn't speak much either."

He swallowed thickly. "I regret it now."

Thomas joined him at the kitchen sink, wrapping his arms around his middle. He didn't speak, just held him, chin on his shoulder, as Edward cried. Thomas switched to rubbing circles into his back as his breath hitched as the sobs became louder.

Edward eventually stilled and took a shaky breath. "Sorry I–"

Thomas quieted him with a kiss. Drawing back he shook his head. "Don't apologize. Never apologize."

"I keep thinking it's getting easier and then something happens and I'm reminded of before compared to now and–and I don't know what's real." he choked out. "I miss being a brother, I miss my siblings. I grew up alone this time, and-and it was fine! I had a happy childhood. But it feels different now."

Thomas nodded. "Tainted."

Edward sagged under an invisible weight. "What do we do?" he asked in a timid voice. 

"I don't know," Thomas replied honestly. "There isn't a handbook for this sort of thing. We just, keep trying, I suppose."

He wiped the tears off Edward's cheeks and fixed his hair. "There. Much better." he smiled.

Edward gave him a weak smile in return and squeezed his hand. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

\----------

Tom was on his break at the bar when the texts came through. After setting Henry straight in the group chat, he quickly began typing out a private message to John. He was beaten to it, however, and John's message came through seconds before he sent his.

**John: **I'm fine. 

**Tom:** are u ok

**Tom:** lol oops

**John: **I'm doing better with things, thanks to you. 

Tom tried not to blush and failed.

**John: **I'm good, but if you could stop by when you get off work?

**Tom: **of course! I don't get off until 1 am tho is that okay??

**John: **perfect. I was actually thinking you could stay the night

**John:** if you want to!

Tom's heart attempted to escape his ribcage. He'd never stayed over at John's before, and frankly, was shocked he'd suggested it. Tom knew they would just be sleeping, but even that was a huge win in his book.

He rewrote his reply several times, debating on how many exclamation points to use, and if an emoji would be too much. He knew that Henry would say there was no such thing, but his significant other wasn't as skittish as Tom's.

**Tom: **of course! :)

There. Simple, but enthusiastic. Satisfied, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and hurried back to the bar, where he could hear the evening crowd gathering.

"Hartnell, best finish your break, here comes the rush!" Blanky shouted as he emerged from the backroom.

Tom gave him a cheeky salute and went to work.

\---------

Solomon was dreading his first shift back after the tussle the previous week, having taken a few days off for the first time ever to process. He wasn't sure how much good it had done him. Most of the time had been spent staring blankly at his walls or trying to remember how to work the microwave. His previous life was pressing into his current one. Solomon felt the loss of his wife afresh, and it almost consumed him, but for the guilt of losing all of his men on the Franklin Expedition competing with it.

Normally when he was having a bad time, he would bury himself in his work, but he had a feeling his job was only going to make things harder. Chances were high that Hickey would reappear on campus to wreak havoc, and there were other familiar faces he could not avoid.

His first shift back put him in the library, where he would no doubt see Bridgens and Peglar. Solomon supposed out of everyone, they were the best people to run into. They seemed the forgiving type, kind to everyone regardless of past transgressions.

Better than running into Little anyway.

It stung, Little being so harsh to him. They hadn't been friends, per se, but they respected each other a great deal. Solomon had been sincere when he asked him to come with them. He deserved better than being the captain's lapdog. But of course Little was too loyal to ever consider mutiny.

He supposed, in the end, it didn't matter, they both died anyways. Solomon shivered at the memory of his bones crunching and his skin tearing. At least he got a shot off.

Solomon sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets as he began the trek to the library. It was getting colder every day as they headed into February, and he detested the way it made the memories stronger, the sensation of the arctic winds mimicked in London. He was thankful he lived so close to campus.

It was almost a full hour before he saw anyone he wanted to avoid. Peglar was sitting at a table, vigorously writing, a large steaming cup of coffee at his elbow. Solomon knew open drinks were not allowed in the library, and he technically needed to say something, but he didn't. Bridgens had probably given it to him anyway.

He was so engrossed in his studies that Solomon was able to sneak past without alerting him. He rounded the corner and began descending into the basement. This was his least favorite part of his rounds. The basement smelled of must and mildew, with low ceilings and old flickering fluorescent lights. Every stereotypical old library cliche was present, and it was creepy. Thankfully, everyone else thought so too, and the floor was typically vacant.

Because Solomon had the world's worst luck, it wasn't on that particular afternoon. Two men sat at a small table shoved in the corner, their backs to him. Solomon could see the laptop screen in front of one of them was open to Ancestry.com, and the other was flipping through a heavy book.

Solomon recognized them immediately.

"Well, it looks like Margaret had at least five children." Jopson, who was seated at the computer, said.

"That doesn't surprise me, she always wanted a big family. She had just given birth to her first daughter just a year before we left." replied the Little, who was leaning over to see the screen. "Oh wow, her youngest lived to be in her 90s." 

Jopson turned and smiled at him. "A fine legacy."

"Thank you. This has helped immensely." Little said quietly.

Jopson reached for Little's hand. "Of course," he replied, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. As he pulled back he caught sight of Solomon lurking behind them.

He looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring, even more so because of who it was. He felt the weight of Jopson's glare on his face. Little had turned around by now as well, and he was the first to break the silence. 

"Tozer." 

Solomon forced himself to meet his gaze. The bruise around his eye hadn't faded entirely yet and he felt a pang of guilt. 

"Little."

Jopson continued to glare.

Solomon considered turning around and leaving. It's what he was good at, running from his problems. He had one foot raised, ready to pivot and head towards the stairs when he stopped himself.

He was tired. He was so damn tired of running. 

He planted his feet.

"You can stop glaring. I'm not going to start a fuss." he snipped. 

"You punched my boyfriend in the face," Jopson said evenly.

"On accident!" Solomon said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I was aiming for Hickey."

"Edward told me you'd had a change of heart. Crozier too. I trust you won't be too offended if I say I'll believe it when I see it." 

"Fair enough." Solomon conceded. "Look, I don't know what I'm doing here, and I've half a mind to just ignore you all and get on with my life."

"But?" Little prompted.

Solomon sighed in defeat. "It's proven difficult."

Little pulled back the chair on his other side. "Sit," he said gruffly like it was taking all of his energy to do.

Solomon looked between him and Jopson, but their expressions were unreadable. Against his better judgment, he sat.

"Crozier seems to think we should bury the hatchet, and while I'm still extremely skeptical, more than likely we'll need your help later." Little explained.

"What do you need my help for?" he asked.

"Hickey is up to something," Jopson said. Solomon waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

"Okay. And?" 

"Well, we'd rather you didn't help him this time." Little said.

Solomon snorted. "Fat chance of that happening. Bastard got me killed last time. He's insane. He's not even the real Hickey, did you know that? Poor bloke was murdered so he could get a free trip to Hawaii."

"Crozier told us what happened. For what it's worth, I'm sorry you went out that way." Jopson said, his tone sincere. 

"At least it was quick." Solomon shrugged, irritating his bad shoulder. He hoped they didn't notice him wince.

"That is something to be thankful for, believe me." Little replied.

Solomon hadn't given much thought to what had happened to the others and was suddenly grateful to not know.

Jopson cleared his throat. "Anyways, I'm glad to hear you're not associated with him again. It will be good to have you with us, should things come to a head."

"Not saying we'll be friends again, mind you." Little added.

"Were we friends before?" Solomon asked.

Little paused. "Acquaintances then."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, like I said, I'm just trying to move on. I just haven't figured out how." he mumbled.

"Why do you think we're here?" Jopson said. "We're trying to process everything. Reconcile ourselves with...ourselves."

"Yeah, I'd rather just forget." Solomon bit back.

He pushed his chair back and stood. "Look, thanks for, whatever this was, but I'm not interested in reconnecting. Not with Hickey, and not with anyone else. I just wanted to make that clear. Leave me out of it."

He thought he heard Jopson call after him as he turned away, but he didn't look back to see.


	22. Chapter 22

Over the next week, Ezra managed to collect handwriting samples, internet search histories, and social media profiles for almost every member of the expedition that had appeared. His bulletin board was covered in photos he'd taken while crouched in the bushes, scraps of paper snagged out of apartments and trash bins, and red string connecting it all.

So far, very little of it was incriminating evidence. Ezra huffed and flicked a selfie of Henry Peglar and John Bridgens, taken from the former's Instagram. The caption was almost indecipherable, consisting of mostly emojis, and so sickeningly sweet it made Ezra want to gag. 

**theopenc** happy one month anniversary!! 💖💕💖💕💍🤵🤵 I'm so glad to have found you in this life. #meanttobe #soulmates 

To the undiscerning eye, it was merely an overly sappy romantic gesture, and Peglar most likely didn't think twice about his wording possibly revealing more than he intended. But Ezra knew how to pick apart an innocuous sentence and lead people's minds in the direction he wanted. Little pieces of circumstantial evidence added up.

Like the coincidence of Francis Crozier teaching a class about Francis Crozier, or James Fitzgerald writing a book about James Fitzjames. Honestly, they'd made it much too easy for him. All he had to do was add a little pseudo-science, a few buzzwords, and the first article had taken off. It was sitting at 100,000 unique views after only a week, and the number was growing.

Now that Ezra knew it was all true, well. Now he had an insider's perspective and even more motivation to ruin their lives. 

"None ever wanted nothing from me!"

"Does that really work with anyone Mr. Hickey?"

"Mr. Hickey will be punished...as a boy."

"It isn't personal but it is finished."

Ezra shook himself out of his memories. He was looking forward now. Only forward. With this story, he'd get both revenge and the respect and recognition he deserved. His career would finally take off, and while he might not become the god he once wanted to be, he will become rich, and wasn't that the same thing now?

Refocusing, he stared at the few blank gaps he had left on his board with disdain. He was missing information on only three individuals. Historical records of Thomas Blanky were brief, and the modern man was even more elusive. All he could dig up was that he owned a pub near campus, creatively named Blanky's. No media presence, no publicly listed address or phone number that wasn't the bar itself. He knew that he would need to find a way into the pub somehow to get more.

Henry Collins was also a mystery. Ezra had followed him for a day, and it was interesting to note he went to the pharmacists, then to Dr. Goodsir's flat, but he didn't dare get closer, with that giant white dog guarding the place.

Equally puzzling, for the very same reason, was Lady Silence. That wasn't her name of course, but since he never knew her real one, he couldn't even begin to look her up online. She was from out of town as well, so most locals didn't recognize her.

Ezra ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was becoming obvious that the last few pieces of the puzzle would require more risk to obtain than the others.

He cracked his neck and set to work on a plan.

\---------

"Do you ever go home Mr. Blanky?" Hartnell chuckled as he took off his coat and hung it on his peg in the back room. "I was expecting to open by myself today."

Thomas snorted. "If you think I'm going to leave this place unguarded while that coward is out breaking into people's homes you are mistaken."

"Fair enough. But what about well, your home? He could just sneak in there while you're here." Hartnell countered as he clocked in on the ancient hole punch machine Thomas had never bothered to replace.

"Anything and everything important is stored here." He tapped his temple. "And here," he kicked the fireproof safe under his 'desk'.

Hartnell furrowed his brow. "You don't have anything else at home? Letters or keepsakes you'd want to keep safe?"

"Not a very sentimental man, I'm afraid. Don't have much to be sentimental about really." Thomas shrugged.

He had been, before. He kept dozens of tiny keepsakes. Locks of baby hair, a drawing of himself, his wife, and his daughters, done expertly by his youngest. A flower pressed between pages of a book. 

Now there was nothing.

"Suppose that's fair," Hartnell replied. He spun a chair around and sat across from Thomas, a tiny smile on his face. "No room to be sentimental on a ship, eh? One of those habits that carried over."

Well, maybe there was something.

Tom Hartnell was different from his children in every way imaginable. Two daughters, never a son, and where Hannah had been brash and bold, Tom was quiet and reserved. Esther was sharp as a tack, just like her mother, and had the temper to match her wit. Tom was a man of few words, intelligent, no doubt, but satisfied to blend into the background, and rarely became riled.

He would never in a million years serve as a replacement for the children he lost, no one could, but Thomas found that the young man's presence lessened the ache some. It was nice to have someone to mentor, someone to look after, even though Thomas was fully aware Tom could do that for himself. 

Thomas understood why Francis was so attached to the men. It was difficult to bury that paternal instinct brought out by young men making questionable decisions and looking for guidance.

He cleared his throat. "Seems to be," he answered.

"Please tell me you're going home to shower at least." Tom teased. "Can't have you driving away the customers with your stench on top of your personality."

"You know, I can fire you." 

"But you won't." Tom grinned.

"Cheeky." Thomas groused, but he was also smiling. 

"Well," Tom said, slapping his thighs, "that's enough flirting with unemployment for one day, I'm going to go stock the bar." He hopped off his chair and exited the back room, whistling under his breath as he did.

Thomas huffed and followed him.

They worked quietly to open the bar, Thomas counting the drawer while Tom polished the counter and restocked the spirits and mixers they were low on. It was a Saturday, and they expected to be busy.

"We're out of pretzel sticks," Tom said, his voice muffled. He was crouched on the ground, head stuck deep inside a cabinet. 

Thomas groaned. "That damn dog. We have to keep a closer eye on him. And Dundy, for that matter. Those aren't cheap."

Tom emerged clumsily from the cabinet. "Need me to go pick up more?" he asked.

"Best do, I suppose. Here." he tossed a credit card at him. Tom caught it swiftly. "Use that. Get the cheapest bulk pretzels you can find."

"Yes, sir," Tom replied. He was out the door a moment later, eager to complete his task. Thomas appreciated his enthusiasm.

Not fifteen minutes after his departure, the heavy door to the pub swings open, letting in a blast of cold air and a familiar, unwanted, face.

Thomas reached under the bar and grabbed his trusty-but-illegal shotgun. He leveled it at the newcomer's face. 

"Get the fuck out of my sight."

"Well. That's very rude. I'm afraid you'll be receiving a negative review on Yelp!." Hickey said.

"What do you want?" Thomas snarled.

"Can't a man stop in for a pint with an old shipmate?"

"Don't waste your time using your mind games on me," Thomas replied, gun still held aloft. "Whatever you came for, you're leaving without it."

"Do you have a license for that firearm?" Hickey asked casually. "I hear that kind of thing is required now." 

He kept walking towards the bar, seemingly unaffected by the gun pointed in his direction. He ran a finger down the counter and inspected it for dust.

"I've just come to talk."

"You've come to see if I'll slip up and tell you something."

Hickey shrugged. "That would certainly be nice, but I'm not naive. I'm just here to clear the air, as it were. Yes, I broke into Little's flat, and I have been investigating you lot. My original plan was to write a follow-up article to my first, and expose you all." 

"But, I realized that would put me in the path of danger as well. So." he clapped his hands together and rocked back on his heels. " How about a truce. I'll stop invading your privacy, and I won't publish my article, and you lot will leave me alone."

"We've done nothing to you, Mr. Hickey."

"Little and Hartnell _assaulted_ me."

Thomas shrugged. "Nothing you didn't deserve, I mean."

Hickey sneered. "If Crozier won't reign in his dogs, there will be consequences. Consider this a proper warning. The only one you're gonna get."

"Duly noted," Thomas replied. "Now get the hell out." he gestured to the doors with his gun.

Hickey smiled, which was more unnerving than the sneer, and backed up to the door.

"Be seeing you." 

Then he was gone. The whole exchange took a matter of minutes but had felt like several years to Thomas. Slowly he put away his gun and picked up a bar rag. That's how Tom found him, half an hour later, scrubbing at the bar, a distant look in his eyes.

"Mr. Blanky?" Tom asked cautiously. "Alright?"

Thomas schooled his features and looked him in the eye. "Just fine lad."


	23. Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey hi. It's uh been a while. But I bring CONTENT.
> 
> Small content, but I'm just getting back in the swing of things.
> 
> It's Hodge time babey.

_"But I'm hungry. I'm hungry, and I want to live."_

George awoke with a start, though thankfully not one so extreme as to wake his wife. He blinked slowly and focused on bringing his breathing rate down. His heart was slamming against his chest with frightening force.

Lenore mumbled in her sleep and rolled over to him, her chin finding his shoulder. George exhaled slowly, and brought his hand up to her hair. Solid and real. He was here, in his bed. He was safe. To his left on the nightstand the baby monitor and alarm clocked blinked and glowed in the murky dark, firmly anchoring him in the here and now and not in a time long past. His breath did not puff out in front of him like a tiny cloud, reassuring him that he was safe indoors and not in a tent in some immeasurably cold place.

Even so, George didn't dare close his eyes again, lest he be transported back to that place. These dreams had always been a problem for him, but lately they were increasing in both number and intensity. This last one was particularly disturbing. Just him and another man in a tent, George going on about churches and Papists and meat. It churned his stomach.

He gently extracted himself from Lenore's grasp to use the restroom and freshen up. After splashing cool water on his face, he felt a little more like himself. Shaky still, but himself. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up at the odd angles Lenore thought were so cute.

George was staring so intently at his own reflection that when his wife spoke behind him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Bad dreams again?" Lenore asked quietly.

"Good Christ, you scared me Len." He gasped.

Lenore looked apologetic as she stepped closer. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. 

"I'm sorry love. Did you want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about. Wasn't a nightmare. Was just going to check on Ava."

His wife raised an eyebrow and looked back at the baby monitor on their bedside table. "She hasn't made a peep."

"Madeline, then." He tried.

"She sleeps like a log and has for years. You're the only one with a problem." Lenore said firmly. "Stop pretending you're not."

George sighed. She was so perceptive. It was as annoying as it was impressive.

"Yes, yes you're right of course. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" 

Lenore shook her head gently, a stray curl falling out of her high bun she slept in. "Not this time." She cupped his face in her hand. 

"George, I'm worried they're getting worse. Maybe you should see someone about it."

George sighed deeply. "Yes, I think you're right."  
\-------

The waiting room at the clinic looked much like any other. Pastel blue walls gave the room a calming touch, and there were several fake potted ficus plants shoved into corners to bring a sense of nature inside. Piles of out of date magazines littered the small coffee table in front of the chairs, and a small tv played some daytime soap drama with the sound off.

George was extremely off put by it all.

One small blessing was that he seemed to be alone. Taking an early morning appointment had been a very smart choice. Bless his wife for suggesting it.

"George? Please come on back." 

It was his (hopefully) new therapist. George had to admit she was a striking woman, in her early 40s he would have guessed, if that sort of thing was proper, with dark brown hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, a few grey hairs escaping at her temple.

"Dr. Pattinson, it's a pleasure." George said, rising from his seat to shake her hand.

"Please, call me Susan."

\-----

"I'll be back in an hour to pick you up." Silna smiled, squeezing Henry's hand gently as she pulled to a stop outside his dr's office. "I've got to run to the store, anything I pick up for you while I'm there?"

Henry still found himself taken aback by her kindness. Not because she gave any impression to the contrary, but because he wasn't sure what he had done to deserve it.

"I'm fine thanks."

Silna squinted at him. "Package of Smarties and a ginger ale, got it."

Henry blustered as he grabbed blindly for the door handle, unable to look away from her face. It was so striking when she laughed.

Eventually he opened the car door and stumbled out.

"Right, be seeing you." He said with a small wave.

She grinned in return and drove away.

Henry turned to enter his doctor's office, almost stumbling into another man who was exiting.

"Terribly sorry, " the man said cheerfully.

Henry only nodded, eyes cast downward as he shuffled inside. He was still working on his confidence in public spaces. It wasn't until after he'd checked in at the front desk and seated himself in his usual spot in the waiting room that it occurred to him that the voice was familiar.

\-----

George felt lighter as he exited the doctor's office. He was so carefree that he was paying very little attention to where he was going, and almost bumped into the gentlemen coming in.

"Terribly sorry!" he said, moving to the side.

He strolled out to his car without another thought, ignoring the odd sensation of familiarity that tickled in the back of his mind when he had seen the man.


	24. Twenty Four

**paddington:** I think I just saw lt. Hodgson

**cpncroizer: **Where?

**paddington: **my dr's office. He didn't recognize me.

**jopson:** I have a confession to make. Edward and I actually found him on Facebook, a few days ago. 

**tombowline:** why didn't you say anything?

**jopson: **He has a family.

**tombowline:** ah.

**thehartyboy:** what difference does that make?

**jopson: **he seems happy and well adjusted, I don't think awakening memories of a tragedy from 200 years ago would do him any favors.

**paddington:** can't be that well off, I saw him at a therapy appointment

**tombowline:** plagued by the nightmares we all experienced, no doubt.

**thehartyboy:** well, what do we do? He could be in danger, with Hickey around.

**capncrozier:** we tell him the truth. And if he wants his memories back, we give them to him. Either way, we need to protect him and his family from harm.

Silna read the messages and pocketed her phone. Her heart went out to Hodgeson. She did not envy his predicament. 

They hadn't interacted much before. He watched over her a few times when she was aboard Terror, but he never made any attempt to communicate, and always seemed wary of her presence. Silna had a sneaking suspicion he believed most of the negative rumors about indigenous people, as many of them did at the time.

She tried not to hold it against them now, but it was difficult at times. Even now, one of them would put their foot in their mouth, spouting some ignorant belief. Harry, bless him, usually stepped in and gently corrected them, saving Silna the trouble.

He and Henry were away at the moment, off walking the park with Tuunbaq to give Silna a very deserved moment of peace.

Naturally, that meant the chat was very active. It pinged in her pocket and she had to will herself to put it on silent and not check the messages. She needn't be on all the time.

She deserved to relax. Maybe if she told herself this enough, she would begin to believe it.  
\----

Lex dialled her brother's number with practiced ease, and began talking before he even had a chance to say hello.

"We're still on for this weekend yeah?" 

Thomas waffled a bit before answering. "I don't know Lex. They still haven't caught the guy who burgled us."

Lex huffed into the receiver. "Thomas, you're being paranoid. I'm just as safe with you as I am anywhere. Besides, I'm already outside."

She heard him splutter over the phone. "Wha- Lex, it's Thursday afternoon."

"I've missed you, sue me." She replied. 

That was true, but she was also curious to discover why he was being so cagey as of late. And she really wanted to meet his boyfriend.

She heard the locks turning on the door, before her brother popped his head out, hair astray. "You're lucky I got off work early."

"Yeah, I see you've already dressed done for the evening." Lex smirked. "Am I interrupting something?"

Thomas's scowl made Lex cackle. He opened the door completely to reveal he was in fact, clothed, though his collar was slightly askew.

"Funny. Well, come in then." he said, stepping aside to let her in.

It was a nice little flat, reasonably sized, and it smelled amazing. There was a comfy looking sofa, a small table and chairs in the dining nook, and a tiny television in the corner.

On the sofa sat a figure, who glances up at her entrance. He had dark hair, with soft brown eyes framed by laugh lines. There was just a hint of stubble on his face, and he was smiling at her.

"Edward, this is Alexis." Thomas said with a barely repressed sigh.

"Lo'" he said as he got up to greet her. "Nice to finally meet you. Thomas talks about you all the time."

"Complains, more like." Thomas corrected.

Lex elbowed him in the gut. "Hush. It's wonderful to meet you as well Edward. I must say Thomas, you chose well. He's so handsome."

Both men blushed, which Lex counted as a win.

"Have you had dinner yet Lex? I was just about to start something." Thomas said, finally smiling, the tension in his shoulders dissolving completely as he headed to the kitchen. "Since you here, I might as well feed you." he teased. "And I'm assuming you'll be staying all weekend? I made up the spare bed."

"Wow, for not wanting me to visit, you've certainly pulled out the welcome rug." she said, following her brother to sit at the dining table.

"It's not that I didn't want to see you." Thomas explained as he pulled out pots and pans. "It's just things have been pretty crazy around here lately."

Edward nodded in agreement, pulling up a chair beside her. "We still don't know who broke in here, it has the whole block on edge."

"Yeah, I get it. But I'm not a kid anymore, I can travel on my own." Lex argued. "I made it here just fine. You just like to worry."

Edward chuckled. "That he does."

"No. No, you are not allowed to gang up on me." Thomas said with mock sternness, brandishing a spoon at them both.

Lex laughed. It was so good to see her brother happy finally.

Edward's phone buzzed loudly in his pocket then, while Thomas's vibrated on the table. Edward checked the message swiftly, while Thomas continued chopping onions. It looked like he was preparing his homemade spaghetti sauce, Lex's favorite.

Edward snorted at his phone and pocketed it again.

"Do I want to know?" Thomas asked.

"John has finally gotten the hang of memes. He posted one in the chat to lighten the mood."

"Five quid says Tom's actually the one who sent it." Thomas chuckled.

"Oh probably."

Lex gasped, feigning shock. "Are you saying you have friends Thomas?"

Thomas threw a piece of onion at her, which hit her right on the forehead. He'd always had amazing aim.

"Will I get to meet these friends?" she continued like she hadn't been pelted with a vegetable.

Thomas shook his head."Not this visit."

She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent.

Edward spoke up then, changing the subject to Lex. Her studies, her friends, what Thomas was like growing up, and such things. It was a delightful, engaging conversation, and she found herself very enamoured with Edward. Lex didn't forget her curiosity though.

It was going to be an interesting weekend.

\-----  
Lenore watched her husband carefully across the dinner table. He was in high spirits, and she was delighted to see it, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't going to last. One therapy session wasn't going to solve his problems she knew. He seemed to believe otherwise, at least, that was what he was telling himself.

"And you're sure you don't need to go back?" She asked carefully.

"Well, Susan said I should have a follow-up appointment, but really Len, I don't think it will be necessary." he replied cheerfully as he spooned mushed peas into Ava's mouth. "I feel right as rain."

She wanted so badly to believe him, for him to be alright, but she knew her husband. He had been shaken to his very core by these dreams, and he had a habit of pretending things were alright when they very much were not. She knew that's what was happening now.

She also knew not to push it.

"Mummy, can I have dessert now?" Madeline asked.

Lenore smiled at her daughter. "I still see an entire serving of peas on your plate."

Madeline covered her plate with a napkin. "No you don't." she giggled.

George turned his attention to their eldest. "My dear, that is the most exquisite, exciting vegetable on Earth, did you know that? Peas helped us understand how genetics work. The humble pea is used all over the world in many cuisines. And most importantly, it is my favorite vegetable. I implore you to try them."

As it usually did, George's flair for the dramatic and use of long, fancy words their four year old couldn't possibly understand, sent her into a fit of giggles and she took the napkin off her peas and began eating them with her fingers. "You're funny Daddy." She mumbled around her mouthful.

He reached out and brushed her blonde hair away from her mouth. "Thank you dear."

Madeline continued happily munching on her dinner, unaware of the strange, far off look in her father's eyes.

Lenore reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "George?"

"Hm? Sorry, my mind was elsewhere for a moment." he smiled, and this time Lenore clearly saw the cracks in his facade. 

"Promise me you'll schedule that follow up." she all but begged.

"I will."

\------

Susan stared at two plain, unassuming manila folders on her desk. They looked identical to all of her other patient files. The names written in her neat handwriting on the tab at the top.

_Henry Collins_

_George Hodgeson_

The inside of each folder were eerily similar. Two men, close in age, but having no connection to one another, both having incredibly vivid dreams. This in and of itself would be no cause for alarm. She treated many patients with nightmares and sleeping problems.

The part that piqued her interest was the subject of these dreams. Both men were dreaming of an Artic wasteland, and ships stuck in the ice. A terrible creature pursued them as they slowly watch their friends succumb to the elements and each other.

They were grisly dreams, disturbing even to Susan, who had heard and seen many disturbing things in her long career.

She wanted to help these men, as she did all of her patients, but she couldn't work out how it was possible for two men who had never met to be sharing such similar delusions.

It was time to dig deeper.


End file.
